Amazing Awesome Adventure
by Tin-Can-Hit-man
Summary: A questionable product of Tin-Can-Hit-Man. Warning: Unsafe for use by hipsters. Please review!
1. Prologue

The kid sat on the floor in an odd posture, hampered as he was by the handcuff around his wrist. To his side was a bar stool, snaking down into the floor where unseen bolts held it fast. The mini-bar above it showed every sign of being hit by a tornado. All of the glassware was either gone or in pieces, and the only liquors which remained were a few pricey bottles in a locked case. From the right angle, the picture might have given the impression of a posh suburban home. However, turning only slightly would reveal the setting. An airplane, battered and torn apart but still functional. A couch was wedged peculiarly against the port side fuselage, in a way that seemed to dare gravity to undo it.

The kid himself was less of a sight, possessing dirty blond hair and a build which, from a distance, might be mistaken for showing height when in fact it merely showed gauntness. Not the kind associated with troubles, but rather with their absence. If seen in any other circumstances, it would be nearly impossible to think anything of him at all. His clothes were baggy, looking as if they belonged to someone else, and his eyes sparkled softly with a hint of confusion, carefully but incompletely concealed by a judicious mental effort. He looked around the cabin briefly, and then sat still for a while. Things were not as they had been in the immediate past and he was acquiring a sense of his new setting carefully. After giving it a studious inspection, he initiated a course of action. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone and called the first number he could think of.

"Domino's Pizza, how may I help you?" The kid took a breath. Lowering the phone slightly, he puzzled about what he would say to this man. He would have to put aside his feelings at the moment, otherwise the ensuing conversation would be of great difficulty. Making use of a variety of tricks he knew and was fond of, he managed to calm his nerves to a suitable point. After taking the opportunity to clear his head, he lifted the phone to his head again and spoke. At first his voice broke, but then, quite quickly, it feel into a strong, easy rhythm and he found no difficulties. His voice was the tone of a confidence too absurd to exist, and thus an experienced person might easily conclude it to be sarcastic. However, the man to whom he now spoke did not have these preconceptions. As he listened to the kid, he quickly realized this was not a normal call.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey what's up. I'm sitting here on a fucking airplane right now, which might seem like an ok thing to be doing in general but in my case it kind of sucks. But let's not worry about that, because if there's one thing people need to shut up about it's airline travel. I wouldn't want to be cliché here. I do have a story to tell though. It's pretty much the craziest story I ever could of imagined, only not because my imagination isn't really that good, but GOD DAMN IT it happened to me and even if I'm not the best storyteller it's still my fucking story to tell. So fuck you, just shut up and listen to me here. You might be surprised.

Ok, so this basically started rolling around the time I was at this concert. I'm your typical college student, maybe a bit off in some capacity or another but still within normal variation. Some guys I know told me about this gig, a folk punk deal. They were running it out of a dirt parking lot in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere. So I guess it isn't really a normal concert but stop nitpicking me, alright? Anyways, I decided I would check it out. I'm pretty big into the scene, so it felt like a cool thing to do. After listening to the bands play for a while, drinking beer out of a giant sack full of liquor I have and chatting it up with people over the scene in general, I see this chick, right? I'd seen her around campus a number of times before but I guess I never talked to her. I don't know, I guess I just never got around to it. What do you mean why am I carrying around a giant sack of beer? Because I'm awesome like that, that's why, now stop interrupting me and let me tell my story.

Anyways, so there she is and I guess I'm sufficiently drunk at this point so I wander on over to there and start up a conversation. "Hey", I say "You go to the same college I go to. I didn't know you liked folk punk music. By chance do you like guys that like folk punk music?" I'm a master of charm and wit, especially when drunk. I've just pulled off the perfect icebreaker. "Get real", she says and storms off. I don't know what it is in the water around here, but a surprising number of girls have proven immune to my charm. They must have special training. I blame the feminist wing of the college faculty.

So I brush it off casually and go back to listening to the music. Some dude comes up and taps me on the shoulder. "Hey", he says "I noticed you're into that". He gestures towards the lesbo in question with his shoulder. "Yeah I guess" I say "although she probably sleeps around. I wouldn't want to get a venereal disease or anything". The guy laughs. "Well that's a good way to keep a positive perspective on things. If you change your mind though I can tell you a thing or two about..."

"What do I need to know?" I coolly interject.

He laughs again. "Well" he says "it basically amounts to this. One of the best angles to work with girls is the political angle. I'm Mike, by the way, head of the Metro State Anarchist club." Interesting. I can tell where this is going and I like it. All I need to do is lay some of my characteristic charm on him and I'm well on my way to victory.

"Well fuck you Mike, and don't you ever talk to me again". I pick up my sack of liquor and make my way over towards the other side of the parking lot. The ambiance is better there anyways. For the rest of the concert I don't hear anything from Mike or that frigid bitch. Towards about 7pm I start to get a little woozy, so I decide to lay down. Some guido objects to my use of his car hood for said purposes. We discuss our differences like gentlemen, and work out an alternative arrangement wherein I use the ground to rest instead. After a long nap, I wake up. The parking lot is almost empty, the bands are all packing up. Some homeless guy is staring at me, no doubt because I've violated his territory. I pick myself up and decide to head home. Er, decide to head to the liquor store that is. But after that I head home.

I wake up to the sound of banging on the door. Fucking hell, I must have left the TV on too loud or something. I don't even remember turning it on. I roll over and the clock says 2:34. I'm awake early, I'll have to kill time before classes. I throw on some clothes and shamble over to the door. I hear shouting now. "Shut up" I yell, fidgeting with the locks. I yank that sucker open and it's my roommate Johnny. FUCK. I must have locked him out of our dorm again. Not that it matters, it's not like he has a right to complain. He ought to be used to this by now after all.

"You're an asshole" he says.

"Yeah, what's it to you" I shoot back. He's been trying to get me kicked out of here for a while now. I hardly feel guilty. I mean yes, in principle there are supposed to be guidelines for dorm living but it's not like anyone follows them anyways. The faculty also obviously don't care, otherwise they would have found time for that formal academic court thingy they keep talking about. I don't have time for this bullshit, so I bail.

"Hey if Jerry comes by and wants his poker set back, tell him to fuck off", I say as I'm leaving.

"FUCK YOU!" I hear from the shower. Christ, some people. Suddenly a legitimate concern hits me; what am I going to do to kill time until class? I mean, I guess I could hit the gym but today is supposed to be my rest day. I haven't really been keeping up with my workout schedule but I suppose now is a good time to start. Build consistency, and all that. Otherwise I'll never manage to keep committed to my schedule. No time like the present to get started on self-improvement.

I can't drink either, because Johnny is back in the dorm and I don't want to deal with him. I could go to the computer lab and fuck around, but there's that one asshole there who objects to my use of the computers. I mean, so what if people don't like the same porn I do. It's the 21st century people, stop being such prudes. Anyways, that's out of the question. I walk past a campus billboard and see the fliers for all the clubs. I hate clubs. Who has time for them? Not people with a legitimate academic commitment, that's for sure. Then I glance at one in particular and remember my conversation with Mike. I guess it couldn't hurt to see what's going on in these primitive backwoods academic sub-societies. Maybe they'll like me. I could end up being the king of their tribe, or something.

I yank one of the little paper dongles off of the flier. Technically I didn't have to, since apparently the club is meeting right now in the room next door, but I felt like it ok? Besides, it's a strategically sound action. Less competition for leadership this way. I wander into the room and announce myself. "Hey assholes, I'm here to join your stupid cause or whatever. Down with culture and society and the man! Yeah!" There's some shuffling as people turn around to get a glimpse of me. Yes that's right, I'm majestic you bitches. Drink it up.

Mike is standing in the front of the class like he's some sort of professor. "That's terrific, now sit down and shut up and maybe you'll learn something," he offers. My plan to ingratiate myself seems to have hit a snag, here. No matter, I'll do as he says and take the opportunity to regroup and form a new plan. Learn their ways, gain their trust, and then conquer them from the inside. No need to be hasty here. I glance about the class and see the girl from yesterday. She appears to be upset that I'm here. Perfect! I have her attention. From here everything should be relatively simple to bring together.

I pick out an empty seat in the front row, right at the head of the pack. Might as well get an early start on establishing myself. Mike is talking about some ridiculous economic jargon, pointing to all sorts of numbers and figures on a projector. He's giving a private powerpoint presentation to a student club. People do this for fun? I swear man, I don't understand it. So on and on he goes about securities and mortgages and covered calls and a whole slew of acronyms. I'm nodding my head thoughtfully but fuck all if I'm going to bother thinking about any of this. He hasn't used the word oppression once. What kind of anarchists are these?

I decide to speak up, maybe Mike can answer some of my questions. "Excuse me," I say, "but what's with all the line graphs? Aren't you supposed to be a revolutionary group? Why the fuck are you giving powerpoint presentations? Line graphs aren't revolutionary, they're like, the opposite of revolutionary. I mean what the fuck, man?" Mike appears pleased that I have chosen to engage him in civil discourse.

"We do engage in active political events as well," he says "including protests, campaigns, pamphleteering, grassroots charity efforts, and of course demonstrations, but an important part of being a member of this organization is staying educated about current affairs, economics, and politics. If you had shown up at the beginning of the meeting you would have had it explained to you then." Mike is reaching into his backpack now. I'm wondering if it's a gun. That would be boss. Unfortunately he just pulls out some stupid pamphlet. "Here" he says, "it's the club manifesto". He winds up and throws the thing like some sort of ace pitcher. I try to catch it but I guess paper has a weird trajectory.

People really shouldn't throw things made of paper anyways. It hits me in the face despite my best efforts. Everyone starts laughing, Mike smiles. That's good at least. I'm starting to really win friends and influence people here.

So then Mike wraps shit up and everyone more or less leaves, except my girl who's talking to Mike now. "Why the fuck is this kid here? What is this Mike? Are we babysitting retards now?"

"Calm down" Mike says "He's new here, and that's just his sense of humor. Don't worry about it, I'll talk to him about his behavior." So my girlfriend leaves and Mike turns to look at me. Hey yeah, that's terrific asshole. Real smooth. Ruin my relationships why don't you. He takes a seat on the desk in front of me and starts talking.

"So" he says "I see you decided to pay us a visit after all." "Yeah", I say "but it's not like it was the start of anything. You bastards seem way too stuck up for me. You don't deserve to be exposed to my greatness". Mike laughs. Christ, am I that fucking hilarious? Well fuck him then, maybe I should just ditch this moron and go do motherfucking stand up. "That's a shame" he says "because people here really seem to like you."

"Really?" I say, and he says "Yeah. You've got a good sense of humor. You might need to tone it down a bit but it actually goes over pretty well. You should stick around, maybe you'll like what you see." I'm thinking about it. There is my newfound commitment to leadership to consider. If I back out now then these people will never know what it means to follow a leader of true brilliance.

"Well I guess I could give you another shot, but if you fuck up next time I'm not coming back. I'm implementing a two-strike system, and you're already on one." Mike smiles. "That sounds good to me. Besides which, you still haven't even gotten her phone number." He gestures towards the door even though my lover is long gone. What the hell is up with this guy, does he have a nervous tick or something? Learn to fucking movement, jackass. But with that tantalizing motivation held in front of me I guess the best thing to do would be to make a go of it.

So the club is all packed up and gone and I still have like an hour to my first class, Survey of Contemporary Society. Normally I wouldn't, but I figure what the hell, so I open up the pamphlet and start reading. This shits pretty interesting, way more so than the lecture. It starts off talking all about how society sucks and shit, and then it talks about rights. I flip through that bitch. I feel like I'm learning a lot. It's talking about how property is theft which I think is pretty awesome, because it means that theft is liberation. I didn't realize how politically active I was before. It feels good to know I've been actively working towards a better society this whole damn time. Hey, maybe I can use some of this stuff in class even.

But yeah, normally I hate books. People have tried to get me interested in them but everything I've ever read is bullshit. One time this teacher tricked me into reading The Prince because he made it sound like Machiavelli could prove that killing people and stealing all their shit was awesome, but that wasn't what the book was about at all. It was just a hundred pages of him describing things. Lame. I don't get why people go in for that anyways, if all these guys really know more than I do then why the fuck are they all dead? Yeah, that doesn't speak too highly of your intelligence when you couldn't even avoid dying, does it asshole? So that's why I hate books. They're all written by dead people.

I finish up that shit and decide to wander around. There are some guys playing terrible music on the street corner. Nobody cares moron, get a fucking job or a life or a haircut at least. Some Christian guy is ranting about all his Christian bullshit, but he does that every week. I go over and shout at him for a bit and then it's time for class. Well, it's 20 minutes after time for class, but same-dif. So I wander over to B214 and waltz into that mother-fucker like I own it, because I do. Everyone turns to look at me. It's good that people know I'm important, I'd hate to have to remind them.

I sit down and wait for my spell to wear off. I guess these people can't help but be transfixed by me. I am awesome, after all. The professor goes back to talking. Apparently she's dividing us up into groups to talk about politics and human nature or whatever it is this class is about. I get paired with a couple of decent looking broads, maybe 7/10 on the scale, and one pasty little mamma's boy looking creature. Whatever, life doesn't always go your way I guess.

"We're supposed to be talking about what we think our ideal government should be" says the guy.

"I already fucking know that, alright. I'm me. Of course I know that." I say, then I smoothly add "So why don't you go first." He appears taken aback by this, probably because his mother forgot to explain to him how to act around your superiors. Sheltered people bore me. They need to learn how society works or else just go home and die watching sesame street, eating vegan appetizers or whatever the fuck it is they do.

"Well" he whines in a shrill nasal voice "I personally subscribe to the notion that the government which is best is that which governs least."

"That's stupid" I tell him "I mean it's called

government for crying out loud. It's right in the name. If it's not governing then it isn't working. Christ man, do you not have a dictionary or what?"

"Now that's not necessarily true" he begins to splutter "most social problems can be handled through voluntary human interaction, provided that a government exists to instill respect for private property, and..."

"Property is theft" I interject. The two chicks in our group are watching intently. Maybe I can show them how awesome I am here, they'll probably want to sex me. I've always wanted to try a three way. "I mean, just think about it man. It's like, the world belongs to everybody and shit. So that means that if you're trying to call something yours you're taking it away from the world. You wouldn't support robbing the entire world, would you? There's orphans and homeless people and things, think of how sad they would be if you robbed them."

"What the fuck are you talking about? None of that makes any god damn sense! What the fuck is wrong with you?" the asshole blurts out. The professor overhears our debate and comes over to offer her scholarly opinion.

"You need to leave" she says to the douchebag. He glares at her, then at me, gets up and storms out as if people actually care about his fucking opinion. The professor turns to address the class "I suppose I ought to have been clear beforehand. Be civil. No namecalling or personal attacks."

This is awesome. I just won my first debate and it's all thanks to that stupid fucking club I'm running. The girls are both looking at me, one is pouting in a really cute way, the kind that says "I'm a woman and I don't know what's going on." Totally hot. The other is smiling. "Libertarians are so stupid. My brother told me there would be a bunch of them in college. I can't believe anyone can have that little common sense."

"Yeah" I say "some people are just fucking douchebags. It's like, if you're too stupid to learn then don't show up in the first place." Both these chicks are nodding in agreement. This is fucking awesome. I'm the champion of the universe today. I mean, moreso than usual, if that's possible, which it is for me because that's how awesome I am.

The clock hits the magic spot and people start scrambling to leave. The professor comes over and hands me a syllabus. "I know this is the first day and there are certain things that can't be helped, but try to be on time in the future." She smiles "Today was pretty lively wasn't it? Don't worry, I'll make sure he doesn't get out of line in the future. You seem like a smart kid. A lot of people just have trouble with that." She picks up her handbag and leaves the class. About then I start to realize that this whole anarchy club thing is the best idea I've ever had. I should tell Mike about this. Maybe he'll learn something from it.

I head on back to the dorm and crash. I flip on the tv and turn it to the food network, then think better of it. I'm not stoned yet, it's a disgrace to the prestige of the network to watch it without the proper sacraments. I crack open a beer and chug it down, then open that book again. I flip through it. It's like some sort of fucking magic tome man, I swear. If things keep going like this I'm going to be president of the country in no time. Suddenly I hear some more banging on the door. I sigh and throw the book down, head on over and see who it is. Oh, it's Johnny. Big surpise. He storms through the place to the refrigerator, no doubt because food is the only thing willing to spend more than a few hours with him. I get ready to tear into that book again when he shouts to me. "Hey asshole, you were supposed to get milk." Now I'm pissed. It's like, who the fuck do you think you are? Pretending I have any sort of obligation to you fuckstick? That's bullshit. But then that reminds me of how much I hate him, and I realize that any excuse to get away from this guy suits me just fine.

So I throw on a pair of pants and a coat and make my way over to the store. It's a little bit cold but that's alright. It makes my nipples swell up a bit. Really completes my ensemble, makes me feel fucking indestructible like some sort of great ape. Anyone tries to fuck with me all I have to do is refer them to my tits, they'll get the picture. That's what instinct is for. I mean, how else does society function if people don't fall into line behind the alpha males. Er, alpha male that is. Fuck the plural, I'm running this show.

As I get near the store I take notice of just how effective this is. I'll have to dress this way more often, it works surprisingly well. I mean, instinct aside some people are just retarded and have a hard time getting the point, but right now they're all doing what they fucking should be. Ducks in a motherfucking row. Even the door opens for me, subservient and respectful of my dominating presence. So I make my way right to the milk and yank that sucker off the shelf, go through the self-checkout because fuck dealing with people. Then right when the door is busy obeying my will, I see one of the chicks from class. She glances at my nipples, scoffs, and then smiles. She's looking me in the eyes now. Not as respectful as looking me in the nipples but I guess I'll let it pass coming from a woman.

"Hey!" she says "That sure is an interesting outfit. So what are you up to?"

"I'm just, uh, getting ready to go back to my place and chill."

"That's cool" she says "where do you live?"

"Just in the dorms. I mean, but it's totally cool because it's not like I even have to follow the rules because everyone just knows I'm above them."

She laughs. "I've never seen the dorms before. Is it alright if I tag along?" About this time I'm starting to think that anarchy club may have been the best decision I've ever made in my fucking life. I mean, as far as girls go this is a pretty easy catch. 7's put out. 8-10's are stuck up, snooty and self important and anything lower than about 5 have self-esteem issues and don't even know how to deal with men. They're pretty much doomed to be lesbians. It's sad, but that's just nature. You can't argue with natural selection. That medium range though, that's the sweet spot. But even so, this was just way too simple.

"Yeah I guess, just so long as you don't break anything with your thunderthighs." She giggles and swats ineffectually at me. Like I said, easy catch. You can call me the dog catcher, cause I've got the bitch on a leash and I'm leading her wherever I want her to go. Right now, it's to the motherfucking pound. Then I remember. God dammit, I'm going to have to deal with Johnny. But then I think of a genius plan, which is actually pretty redundant to say because I'm the biggest genius ever. Every fucking plan I make is a genius plan.

As I walk through the door, girl in tow, I take the gallon of milk and hurl it through the living room into the kitchen. It'll be easier to clean up there, and it's better I don't get the bed wet. Right as I do so Johnny is trying to talk to me or something. "Hey, did you get th-" BWOOSH. The thing explodes in a fountain of glory. Fucking awesome. "Get your own damn milk" I say to him. He looks like his face is about to catch fire but then thankfully he remembers that nobody cares. He glances briefly at my newest conquest before throwing on a coat and duly fucking off. Semi-hot is a bit startled at all of these developments, but after Johnny leaves she lets out a bemused gasp of air.

"So yeah, this is my place" I say to her. "I'd show you around the kitchen, but it's fucking covered in milk".

"You are such an asshole" she giggles. Glancing around nervously, she adds in "Maybe you can show me the bedroom?" I like this girl. She isn't wasting time on stupid bullshit.

"Well, what angle do you want to see it from?" Her smile goes from sweet to sultry. This is it man. I've sealed the fucking deal, and that's not just a manner of speaking if you catch my drift.

See, most people are fucking retarded. They think you have to turn the thing into some sort of ordeal, go about it through an official process or some bullshit. I dunno. Maybe married people do that. That's probably why they're all so god damn miserable all of the time. The truth is you've gotta be spontaneous. If you start trying to look for a rulebook in the fucking clouds then you're just going to fuck things up. Of course it helps that I'm me. I guess other people don't have that advantage. That's really too bad for them.

So I take her back into the main bedroom. I'm thinking about closing the blinds but fuck it, if anybody wants to watch then let 'em. The more peasants know of my conquest, the fewer attempts at insurrection I will have to face. It's just simple common sense, here. "So this is the bedroom" I say, gesturing with precision in case this fact has eluded here. As I'm turning around, she shoves me and I fall onto the bed. I wasn't expecting this but whatever, it's not like it makes a difference. I guess she's answered my earlier question.

She starts to take off her clothes. Now I'm not a freak or anything, but I have to admit that this assertive girl shtick was really turning me on. I'm just lying there because fuck it, if she's going to take charge then she can have all the responsibilities. Obliging my royal inclinations, she climbs on top of me and starts undoing my pants. Just like that she yanks them down till they're over my ankles. This is fucking perfect. Everything is going my way today. And then...

Her head explodes. At first I'm just sitting there, trying to make sense of this. What the fuck just happened? Was I just too much man for...? ...and then suddenly I realize that there's a fucking corpse on top of me, and right about then I let out an audible noise of, uh, disappointment, and pull my pants back on because I guess nothing is going to happen tonight after all. Right about then I realize that the window is blown out, and when I'm starting to guess at the implications of this the door suddenly bursts down and a god damn swat team swarms the place. A guy puts a shotgun between my teeth and then I'm thrown to the ground. My hands get cuffed behind my back. This is all very disorienting. Then I hear someone talk "Sir, isn't Jacob Fisher supposed to be black?" This man known as sir responds "God damn it, you're right. Check the dorm number". A couple long seconds go by and the other man returns. "It's room 448, sir". Sir is somewhere between livid and resigned. "God damn it, we were supposed to be watching room 449. Jesus christ."

And then it hits me. I just lost out on a night full of partying because some asshole couldn't do a basic fucking task correctly. "What the fuck is wrong with you people? You ruined everything" I shout to the floor. I would have shouted it directly to said people, but one of them is sitting with his knee on my back. "Hey mister, watch your language" says Sir "besides, we have our own problems to deal with. Do you have any idea how much paperwork I'm going to have to fill out?" I shut up. The man has a point there. For the rest of the night, I'm kept busy filling out an incident report and describing how things went down to a station full of badges. At about 4am they let me go. They're putting me up in a hotel until my dorm gets taken care, what with being an evidence site and all that. I sit down on the bed and think for a bit. I really don't like people. I don't even want to think about them right now. I just, well... I don't like them. That's all.


	3. Chapter 3

I wake up the next morning and my first thought is that my room looks different. Then I remember all the bullshit I had to deal with yesterday and suddenly it comes back to me. Fuck everything. Did these guys seriously think they could make this up to me by putting me up in a hotel? Retarded. I take a shower, but then as I'm getting out I remember that I left all my other clothes back in the dorm. Oh well. People shouldn't complain anyways, my musk is the scent of the greatest creature ever to live. It's a blessed phenomenon, a heavenly aroma the mere scent of which provides mortal men with irrefutable proof of the supernatural. I guess some people are just arrogant though.

Throwing on my clothes from yesterday, I tear out of that fucker and head to school. I don't really know why, I don't have classes today. I just don't want to hang around this stupid fucking hotel. Suddenly I remember that Johnny exists and I chuckle, wondering how he dealt with that much excitement. Idiot can't deal with anything. I hope he got tazered trying to get back into the room. That would be so like him. It's hilarious just thinking about it. He should be proud that he's finally done something worthwhile in his life, by entertaining me. Although I guess technically I'm just entertaining myself thinking about him, so nevermind. God, people really are failures.

I start to get near the campus and I notice something. The crowd is bigger than usual. And not just that, they're also significantly more in the way of things. Then I realize why. I see Mike standing on a table, shouting shit out of a bullhorn. He's got a fair amount of attention. I'm actually kind of impressed. I mean, he's having to use a tool to do it which is kind of cheating, but then again he doesn't have the benefit of being me so that's probably the best anyone can expect of him.

Over near the dorms, there's a big pile of flowers and cards and candles and other stupid things. A crowd is hanging around there too. Students are coming out the front door, or at least trying to, and getting pissed at how everyone is blocking their way. That's the first non-retarded thing I've seen people do today. I mean, you're piling up all this flammable shit at the entrance, complete with fucking flames no less, and then you're blocking it off by being douchebags. I hope those guys do more than get pissed, I hope they get in a fight. Fuck it, I hope they all get in a fight and then the whole place burns down. Then everybody wins. Or at least I do, but that's all that matters anyways.

I start heading on over to somewhere else, away from all this noise and posturing. Of course someone else has to go and fuck up my plans, and I run into that other chick from class. Like, literally run into her. Fucking bitch needs to learn where she's going, how to use her eyes to avoid pissing off people more important than her and, oh, now she's looking at me. Terrific. She opens her fat whore mouth. "Hey!" she says with concern. She looks at me with these fucking questioning eyes, expecting an answer. I don't give it to her because she doesn't deserve it, so she continues making noise "I'm so sorry about what happened. That must have been terrible for you. The entire campus is outraged about it. That guy over there is talking about what kind of a society could allow such a thing to happen. Of course, you were there, so you know all about it."

I think for a second. I'm used to getting attention but this is a different kind of attention. Maybe I'll have to play things a bit more subtle. "Yeah, I know all about it. But people are pretty dumb sometimes and I bet a lot of them are getting it wrong. So what kind of stuff are people saying?"

She looks at me appreciatively. "Some guy saw the whole thing happen. He wrote about it on twitter." She pulls out her phone and shows me the tweet in question. "lol sum dude watching coeds go at it through a rifle scope. His buddy startled him and he shot her, hahaha". The implications of this begin to dawn on me. First, it means some asshole sucked at his job. Like, really really bad. Which normally isn't that big of a deal but when you fucking shoot people for a living I guess maybe it is. It also means they busted down my door just to make it look like an accident; no, a different kind of accident. How retardedly badly do you have to fail at life to where you have to make one type of mistake look like another type of mistake just to save face? Then the last part hits me. I realize that I probably should have closed the blinds. Oh well, life's a learning experience I guess.

"So is that how it happened?" the arrogant wench asks me.

"Yeah, that's pretty much it. So what did they do with the guy?"

She looks angry now. I hope it's not at me, because I'll smack the shit out of her if it is. "The police took him in, supposedly for questioning. They aren't letting him talk to his family or to the press. People are saying that they're going to prevent him from testifying." Fucking bullshit as usual. Par for the course I suppose.

"That would be a pretty stupid thing to do, but I guess there are a lot of stupid people around." She smiles nervously at me. I think she's run out of things to say. Good, that means she ought to fucking leave. Oh, but I guess she doesn't even know whether or not leaving is appropriate. Fine, I think, I then I take the initiative and depart from her oh-so-wonderful company.

This is a pretty dynamite revelation though. Not only does the entire campus know about all the bullshit I went through, they're rallying behind me. Maybe I can establish myself as a revolutionary. People will die in my name. It will be awesome. After all, I am a member of anarchy club. Then that reminds me so I wander over to where Mike is. He's got a pretty big crowd paying attention to him, although his entourage itself is pretty small. He grabs me and pulls me in among them. What else can he do? Without me it's pretty much impossible for any group to be worthwhile. "This is our man. This kid experienced first hand the horrors of a fascist police state, where money and greed come first and human life comes a distant second."

I'm sort of wondering how that statement works, but on second thought it's not like it matters. Who cares whether revolutionary rhetoric is legit or not. It gets people marching, and more importantly it gets people marching in the name of me. That's pretty much the best thing ever. I guess Mike thinks it has its own point though, because he keeps talking. "The police were staging a raid on a drug dealer, a harmless entrepreneur who never hurt anyone in his entire life. And why were they doing this? Because of the fascist hatred of minority wealth. It threatens their power base. If you want to know why this happened, look at the policies of our government and look at who they benefit. The police don't serve us. They serve the corporations. Here on our very campus, human life was bought, and it was bought so that the elites could continue peddling beer and cigarettes without competition, and without worrying about having to accept brown people into their ranks."

I look around and I see a lot of people nodding. A few wear blank expressions, a couple look like they disagree. They're probably retarded and don't understand what words mean. Like that guy from class the other day. Then I look closer at one of them and sure enough, it's that same moron. Christ, it's like I can understand if you're completely terrible at one thing but to be this terrible at everything? God must hate you. At least he's in good company.

This moron speaks up. "The corruption of public services cannot be blamed on the free market, because the market is the sphere of human actions which are voluntary. Corporate cronyism, to the extent it exists, is therefore not a market phenomenon." A lot of people in the crowd bristle at this. Those to either immediate side of him back off a little, probably not wanting to be infected with his brand of stupid.

A guy is making his way through the audience. "Hey asshole, a girl died because of your stupid fucking philosophy." He winds up and lays that bitch out cold in what's literally the sweetest fucking thing I've seen all day. The guy hits the ground with a dull thud and the reaction from the crowd is mixed. Most of them are cheering but some of them are walking away. It's not like anyone cares about their opinions anyways. I look at Mike.

"It looks like people have some use after all" I say to him.

He smiles and nods. "All you need to do is tell the truth and most people will listen". The truth, right. Like I give a shit about that. I'm just happy to see people fighting each other over me. Or fighting at all. Fucking boss.

I guess that's pretty much all Mike has to say, and that makes sense. It's hard to top a knockout punch in terms of simple, communicative elegance. I mean, violence is the best way of communicating. It's the fucking trump card. How can you argue against violence? That's right, you can't, because you're fucking dead. That's something more of these retarded intellectual types need to figure out. I wish college were more like thunderdome or Battle Royale or something. That would be the best way to organize society. None of this working out differences peacefully crap, just BAM! Instant resolution of all problems. So yeah, I'm pretty happy with the influence on people I've started having.

Mike and his goons start handing out some of those pamphlets to people. Most take it and look appreciative, although I see a few of them tossing them in the nearest garbage bin as they head towards whatever stupid shit their little peasent lives have in store for them. I guess these people belong to me now. This was a pretty easy conquest. I thought it would take longer but I guess this was a good workaround. All I had to do was have a girl I knew get shot to death, which was pretty easy. I didn't even really do anything except leave the blinds open. It's like I said earlier, violence gets things done. Like, even indirectly apparently. It's motherfucking magic.

So the shows over now. Now I have to find something else to do. That's really too bad because I was just starting to enjoy myself. I wander around for a bit, some people are giving me looks as I pass by and talking. I'm basically the coolest kid in school. There's a bunch of news vans over in the college parking lot. They ought to interview me. Nobody else is interesting or cool, so why the fuck are they wasting time with them. I guess news crews are just pretty dumb. Then I glance over towards the dorms, hoping they burned down. One of the dorm workers is yelling at people and putting out the candles. LAME. It makes sense and all but fucking hell, the place was going to burn down and it was going to be awesome. Now I don't have anything to look forward to today. People really ought to be more considerate of others. By that I mean they ought to be considerate of me, because nobody else matters.

So I wander around some more and then I realize that fuck, if I keep this up I'm going to run into more stupid people trying to sympathize with me and maybe even Johnny, which is even worse. I really do hope he got tazered. I start heading on back to the hotel room. I guess I can entertain myself by watching tv or taking another shower or something. Man, everything is totally fucked up right now. It's kind of hilarious. I mean, life sucks in general but in this case it's really obvious. Not that I'm not enjoying myself. Actually what I'm enjoying is that other people are having to deal with all this. They're funny to watch, with their uncertain reactions, hedging all their bets in case somebody calls them out on their bullshit. It's great. It's like, I get to be reminded of how fucking stupid people are by seeing them fail to deal with the things I'm awesome enough to deal with instinctively.

So I get back to the hotel and I just kind of chill there for a bit. I turn on cartoon network and watch the explosions. Fucking Wiley Coyote is chasing the Roadrunner and it's relaxing. Hell, it's comforting even. It's nice to know that even with all the bullshit going on in the world, there's still something predictable. The Coyote will always fail, and the Roadrunner will always escape. That's just what they are. It makes sense. I'm trying to figure out why it's comforting. I guess it's just the violence. Yeah, that's probably it. Like I said before, most effective problem solving device ever. Although I guess technically the coyote always gets back up and has to do it again. So maybe... Man, fuck it. I don't want to think about this shit right now. Philosophy is such crap. People who think they're smart because they talk philosophy can all go fuck themselves.

I switch the tv over to something else and hey look, it's the news. They're talking about the girl that got shot. Seeing as how I was fucking there I ought not to be that interested, but I guess I sort of am. Nothing is quite as much fun as watching the fallout, and especially watching how it seems to effect people that didn't actually have anything to do with it. The news crews are interviewing some old lady, who's saying she's a mother. It isn't even the mother of the girl who got shot, it's just some stupid bitch mother, and she's going on and on about society and moral obligation and how she's afraid for her children now. Yeah right, lady, like a one-time event completely changed your perception of reality. Actually what am I thinking, it probably did. I don't know why I would have put that much faith in her. I guess I was just giving people too much credit. The more retarded things are, the more likely they are to be true. It all just boils down to the fact that people are retarded.

I turn of the tv because I'm sick of this shit. I just lay back for a while and meditate on how awesome I am, but eventually that gets kind of redundant so I stop. So I jerk off in the bedsheets and then continue to lay there. After a bit of that I suddenly realize that I'm really, really bored. Like, more bored than I've ever been in my entire life. I have to get out of here. I have to do something, anything, I don't even care what the fuck it is. I yank open the drawer just to see something move. There's a bible there. Hahahaha, yeah right. I'm not that desperate. People who turn to religion are like people who date fat chicks. You just have to wonder how they got to the point where being so stupid seemed like a viable option. I also see a business card. One of the cops gave it to me after they finished asking me all those stupid questions. Said to call him if I had any additional questions or concerns about the case. Said to call him if the media showed up and started asking questions. Was very adamant about this part.

So I pick up the telephone. I mean fuck it, I don't really want to deal with people. But this is a guy who shoots people for a living, so he's probably pretty cool, even if he did fuck things up for me the other day. I call the number. I'm starting to think that maybe this was a bad idea, and then the guy picks up. "Hello, this is Officer Donahue" he says. Naw dude, this was a good idea. I mean of course it was, it was my idea so it had to have been a good idea.

"Hey what's up" I say.

"Who is this?" comes the response.

"I'm the dude whose girlfriend you shot" I say I'm wondering if you want to get a beer." There's a long silence. I mean, a really fucking long silence here. It's longer than my dick even. I'm starting to wonder if the guy is retarded.

"Yeah, ok" he says "my shift gets off at 5". Now that he's answered I don't really know what the fuck to say, but I guess that's a lie because I say something anyways.

"Cool, let's meet up at The Golden Billiard. Drinks are on you man." I hang up. This is pretty sweet. I have something to do now. I check the clock. It's 4:27. The place isn't that far away but I don't really know how long it takes to walk places. Maybe it will take a long time. So I take another shower, then slip back into the same clothes and bounce. I could go for a cigarette right about now. I mean, I don't smoke, but still. It seems appropriate for some reason. Maybe I can steal one off of somebody else.

I march down through the lobby and I see the bellboy or bellhop or whatever the fuck you call them. "Hey man, you got any smokes?"

He looks at me with this pompous affectation. "There's no smoking in the lobby sir." That doesn't even answer my question. This guy is a fucking retard. "Well fuck you asshole" I say and leave him there to think about how stupid he is. I mean, I wasn't even going to smoke in the lobby. Ok, maybe I was, I hadn't decided yet. But at bare minimum he should have realized that if I didn't have a cigarette already in my hand then he didn't need to warn me about lighting one up. Whatever. It's not like a give a shit anyways. I start heading on over to the bar.

When I get there it's about 4:30. Fuck it, I guess I'll have to wait here for a while. At least it's a pretty chill place. The jukebox has a good taste in music too. I order a water, and then another water, and then after I finish with that I say "fuck it" and order a whole pitcher of water. There's some guys playing pool on one of the tables. It's pretty cool to watch. All it is is nice, solid objects crashing into each other at high speeds. It's almost as good as violence, although if this place erupted in a brawl that would pretty much obviously be better. These guys are pretty good. Every time they line up their shots they make them. So I watch them play one game, and another, and it goes on like that and I'm starting to see a pattern. You have to admire guys like that. They're boring as shit, and hence easy to deal with. That's my favorite quality in people. And then suddenly one of the assholes has to go and miss. Nevermind.

I turn around right as a hand clamps down on my shoulder and it freaks me out. I almost fall out of my chair but thankfully I have the reflexes of a wild animal so I smoothly play it off. "Didn't mean to startle you there" the guy says, looking as though he's talking to some distant vision. Hey asshole, I'm right here. I mean, what the fuck. "So what did you want to talk about?" he asks. For a second I'm not sure how to respond to this, because really I didn't want to talk at all. I just wanted to get drunk. Who cares though, I guess this is better than the hotel room at least.

"I dunno" I say "Why don't you just start talking and if you bore me I'll let you know by punching you in the face". He seems to consider this for a moment with a kind of dull boredom, which is pissing me off. This is the first guy I've met all day who thinks that I'm boring.

He sits down. I guess this is supposed to be his answer or something. He eyes the pitcher of water with curiosity, then turns to look at me. He seems to be trying to think. It's almost funny. He ought to try harder. "It was my mothers idea, going into the force". I suppress a fit of laughter. I didn't realize it was possible to be a cop and mamma's boy at the same time, but people always manage to; well, what I mean is that people are stupid. So this sort of thing, it's to be expected. He keeps talking. That's good, at least he follows instructions well. "I'll tell you" he says "this is a hard vocation. It messes with people's heads. Even before I joined, I had some idea. I mean, every other day there's something on the news about police officers making the wrong decisions. Guys who couldn't hold up under the pressure. But I didn't worry about that, because I thought I was above it."

This is actually kind of interesting. He takes a moment to pour himself a glass of water from the pitcher and I use that as an opening to ask him a question. "So does that mean you're the guy who capped her?" He almost chokes on his glass of water. Not audibly or anything but I've got a pretty good eye so I can tell, even with his best efforts to hide it. "No" he says. I'm disappointed. This is really too bad. This guy might end up being uninteresting after all. "I actually didn't have anything to do with the operation at all" he says "But I know most of the guys who did".

I consider this for a second and ask him another question. "So what are they, all retarded?"

He's back to giving me that bored look. Fucker needs to knock that shit off. "The guy who pulled the trigger; I'm not going to tell you his name; the guy who pulled the trigger has been having family problems recently. He's been working double shifts trying to get the money together to pay a lawyer to represent him. Upcoming custody battle over his kids. A decent lawyer that is, and not a crackpot. He shouldn't have even still been assigned to that position, except that there aren't any other guys with the training for it."

He takes another sip of water. This is bullshit. I didn't want to hear sob stories and all this faggotry. I wanted to hear about assholes getting shot and getting the chair and all the things that make the justice system bad ass. I thought this would be cool, but apparently even the cops don't understand this shit. Stop wasting time and just get violent already. It would make the world so much better, I'm not even joking. Then I remember that this guy had something else to offer. I ask him "So how about those drinks?" To my surprise he gestures to me and we go over to the bartender. I hope he doesn't ask me how old I am, but then I've never had any trouble with that before. Besides, this guy I'm with is pretty obviously a cop even without the uniform.

"What'll it be?" he asks.

"I think we should start with just plain beer and then work our way up to scotch, and then finally Irish car bombs." I say. The guy nods, signaling the bartender to start pouring the first round of liquor. "I'll be right back" I say. That water is catching up to me. People say you should drink 8 glasses a day but that just goes to show you what people are worth. I mean, think about how tedious that would be in the long run. Totally not worth it. As I cross the threshold into the bathroom a guy is just finishing washing up. He turns toward the door and FUCK. It's Johnny. Before I can yell at him to shut up he starts talking.

"Hey, I didn't expect to see you here." This is just great. I'm having a conversation in a bathroom, arguably the worst place to have a conversation in the history of the fucking world. Even worse it's with one of the dumbest people I know. He looks at me as if in sympathy and opens his fat face. "So how are you holding up?" How do I respond to this? It's a retarded question. Then again it's the first time he's paid me the type of attention I deserve, so maybe I should cut him some slack. Yeah, and then maybe he can hang himself with it and I won't have to deal with him anymore.

"I dunno dude, it's tough. I mean, it all happened so suddenly. I'm having a hard time dealing." I move to go towards the urinals and he turns heel to follow me. UGH. "Yeah, I'm having to stay with an aunt while they take care of the room." he says. Then as if remembering that he's a douchebag he keeps talking. "Although I know it must be a lot harder for you, having been there when it happened." He stares at me for a while, reluctant to leave. Just LEAVE already fucker, I don't have anything to say to you. "Well let me know if you need anything alright?" he says. I mumble assent and he finally fucks off. God damn. I mean, what the fuck did that last statement even mean? What does he have to offer me? Dumbass.

I finish up and make my way back out to where the liquor is. Officer whines-a-lot is sitting there, already finished with his first beer. I guess that's fine. Maybe if he gets drunk first I can use that for entertainment. I sit down and stare at him. I guess he forgot about that whole talking thing I told him to do, because he isn't saying anything. I mean technically, if he was following instructions right

he should have kept talking the entire time I was in the bathroom. That would have been the logical thing to do. Then maybe someone would have thought he was talking about them and hit him, and there would be a totally bad ass brawl going on right now. Unfortunately he couldn't follow instructions. Looks like I'm going to have to remind him.

"Hey keep talking man, you're really interesting" I say. He nods dutifully and goes back to thinking, which is pretty obviously a difficult task for him.

"There's been a lot of budget cutbacks recently and they've made up for it by cutting back on manpower. The whole department is a bureaucratic quagmire right now. The brass can't decide what ought to stay and what ought to go and the result is a huge mess." This is slightly better than that other crap he was talking about. I mean, at least now it isn't emo bitching. He's talking about a mess. A mess is almost like violence. I should see if I can't keep him on this subject.

"So what's a good example?" I say.

He answers immediately and it surprises me pretty hardcore. "Our investigative department" he says. "In fact, right now it's just me and one other guy handling the whole business, which means a lot of cases get buried. We don't even spend all our time on doing it, either. Everyone's assigned to multiple functions right now, or at least most people. And we can't outsource that many cases to private agency's either, because we don't have the budget for it." Well that's interesting. I guess I've just ruled out one career path. Maybe I can still work for a private agency, though. I bet that's fun. I mean, based on what this guy is saying they don't have to work as much. They're probably not as accountable to the public either. Man, that would be sweet. "It's upsetting too, because our cases get prioritized by higher-ups and we don't always get to go after the right people". I nod. At this time we're both well into the scotch stage of our drinking. "And it's ridiculous" he says. "We have a guy who murdered three people, ok, a serial killer, and we're supposed to be going after some programmer instead". I laugh. This guy must not handle liquor pretty well, because it's hard to even put that statement in context.

"Are you serious dude? I mean, if that's true then that must be a pretty hardcore programmer".

He's getting more reflexive now. "No, he's just some guy who stole company property. Except the company was working on a software project for the department of defense so now it's this great big interdepartmental concern. I mean, don't software companies keep records? I have a brother who works as a programmer and he says they do. So why can't they just reproduce whatever it is that got stolen?"

"Maybe they're just retarded" I offer.

"Well they ought to learn how to handle their own problems because this is a waste of taxpayer dollars" he seems excited, and then he crashes "I wish I knew programming. And phenomenology. Then I wouldn't have to deal with this job. I'm really getting tired of this job." I ignore the emo bitching.

"Dude, what the fuck is phenomenology?" I ask.

"I don't know" he says "probably some kind of math. All I know is the file said he did his dissertation on the subject". At this point I realize the conversation has gotten pretty boring, so I tell him that he can shut up now. I mean, we went from a whole bunch of emotional bullshit to a story about how people are retarded, which was kind of interesting, and now we're talking about math and 's pretty much the most boring thing ever. But still, at least I got something out of the night.

We went on drinking for the rest of the night. The guy started talking again but it was ok because it was just about baseball and various shades of drunk talk. I mean technically he's not following instructions, but everyone sucks besides me after all so I guess I can let it go. I'm too drunk to care at the moment anyways. That's my favorite kind of drunk. I don't have to bother with all the bullshit when I'm that drunk. It's nice. I wish college were more like being drunk. Then everything would be pretty cool. Or at least it wouldn't matter if it wasn't.


	4. Chapter 4

I wake up the next morning in the hotel, and realize that I must have gotten home somehow. That's pretty cool. I certainly don't remember the steps I took to get home, except for that maybe I walked. I don't know how much though. Suddenly my head starts to hurt a little. I must have gotten up too fast. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, because I'd just cure it with another round but I don't have any liquor here. This hotel is fucking cheap. Cheap like your mom, cheap. They don't even have a room fridge, let alone room service or anything like that. Suddenly I remember all the stuff that guy was talking about last night, or at least the parts worth remembering. I guess a police department that can't afford to have its officers not suck also can't be expected to put me up in a decent hotel after blowing the top off my love interest.

With all these revelations in mind I make my way to the shower. The water doesn't really help anything but I guess it's warm. Also wet. I mean, really the bed was warm already so I guess the wetness is the only thing I'm getting out of this that I couldn't have from staying there. But then that's stupid, because; well nevermind why. I'm not going to get philosophical over a fucking shower. That's retarded. The important thing is that I'm up and about and at least; heh, well there I go again. This lack of alcohol is bad for me. It's allowing me to get my head filled with nonsense. I get out of the shower and realize that my headache is worse, so I get back into my clothes and head for the door. Then I notice something. On the floor there's a letter. It's addressed to me so I guess this was intentional. That pisses me off because it means that the cops probably gave my location to the college or something. It doesn't really matter, except maybe Johnny will show up or a bunch of news crews will find out and come bother me. I liked being alone.

Anyways, I tear that sucker open and pull the contents out, throwing the envelope aside. It's printed on this gay as shit flowery embossed paper, in dumb cursive font obviously made by microsoft.

I glance over it and start to realize that this is bad news. This is worse than a bill or a political solicitation or even a fucking tax form: It's an obligation. "Dear Sire" it says. That's exactly how it's fucking spelled which means either the writer was retarded or else they recognized my greatness, but even in that case they should have addressed it to God instead so they're still stupid. "The funeral services for Elizabeth Louis Oswald will be held on the 18th . We request your attendance as we pay our respects to this beautiful child of god, taken too early from us by circumstances only our creator could understand. Come and take part in our final farewell to a light on this earth that illuminated us and our lives all too briefly".

I didn't even know her name. Why the fuck are they inviting me? How did they find me? This is bullshit. Fuck this. Fuck everyone. I mean, even the letter is stupid. The guy couldn't spell shit right, and why does he call her by three whole names? Aren't two enough? If I go to this shit they're probably going to drag the thing on with triple redundancy the whole way. Then again, maybe they'll have alcohol. I knew a guy that said sometimes they do. Is it really worth it though? Probably not. But people also just started treating me with the proper level of religious devotion, and if I don't show up then they might go back to being retarded. My fucking head hurts too much, FUCK.

I race down to the lobby and ask the bellfag what day it is. "There's a calendar at the main desk, sir" he says.

I fucking lose it. "I didn't ask you where I could find a calendar dipshit, do you even speak english?" He appears startled, as if people yelling at him is an uncommon occurrence. If it is then that's just more proof of how much people suck. I mean, this guy shouldn't even have a job. He's too fucking stupid, even by stupid people standards. Whatever. I go over to the desk. Some fat bitch is behind the counter, but she's on the phone. I look around and the calendar is on the desk in front of her. Figures. I yank the thing out from behind the desk, figuring she can't object if she's too busy to put down a phone. I struggle to make sense of the esoteric conventions of this old-people thing, briefly overwhelmed by pictures of kittens and butterflies and other bullshit. And.

Oh. It's the 18th . I take another look at the note and see where the cemetery is and when the services are happening. 4:00 sharp, and it's 3:22 right now. It isn't too far away, even on foot. Maybe I can make it on time. I throw the calender back in the general direction of the direction I'm not going in and head out to the streets. The sun momentarily blinds me. Whoever made buildings so shiny should die. I mean, I guess buildings are kind of an old invention so they're probably already dead, but they deserved it more than usual. I really fucking hope it was painful too.

After rushing like a madman for what seemed like an eternity I show up at the cemetery. I make my way to the mausoleum because there's probably bathrooms there. I guess not. Fuck, I don't know how these things work. I step outside for a second and relieve myself in the bushes before going back in to chill. There's a clock on the wall. It's 3:24. That's good, I made it in time. Suddenly a thought strikes me despite my best efforts to avoid it, which is pretty hardcore because my best efforts are pretty much the best. That's why they're called best efforts. I'm not going to be dressed like the other people here. Normally that wouldn't bother me but for some reason it does. I guess I'm just a sentimental type. Maybe I'm becoming cultured, which would kind of suck because really culture ought to become more me'd.

But that's not it. Even with my totally awesome taste in clothes there's still the fact that I've been using them as a tracksuit. Also there's the whole part about me wearing them for the past 3 days. More if you don't count that day I spent without clothes 4 days ago as an interlude, but I'm pretty sure etiquette on that is that you do. All that really matters is combo. Ask the internet, they'll tell you. This is actually the first time in a while I've had to call bullshit on myself, something which only I myself am capable of doing given my own status. Sort of how God can create a broad too stuck up to fuck him, or whatever. I mean, I know earlier I said my musk was awesome but that was mostly for the purposes of mating. I don't really know how funerals go. They seem like a somewhat different my area of expertise.

I mean yeah, technically everything is my area of expertise, but some bullshit is just bullshit and isn't worth dealing with like math and philosophy and psychology and history and books, maybe chess, basically anything that's lame or full of faggotry. It's a pretty big list. People should invent less things that involve words and more things that involve explosions. Funerals are all talk. That's why I don't bother with them, although I could totally kick ass at them if I wanted to.

I walk outside and I see that they're starting to set up, and a few people are arriving. They're all dressed for success and all that and I almost feel guilty, but guilt is an emotion for inferior people. I just go ahead and sit down. Unfortunately they must have fucked with the ground somehow because I fall over in the process. I right myself and notice that I'm covered in dirt. That's ok, maybe it will mask the scent. Maybe people will think it's a new fashion or a custom of some vague eastern European people. If they ask, that's what I'll have to tell them.

A bunch of chairs lined in not quite even rows, a pulpit, a casket and hearse. That last part seems kind of a redundant. The casket is closed, which I think is dumb. I mean, yeah her head is gone but that would just make the whole thing more awesome. Normal corpses are boring. They've got no style or flash. It's not many people that can actually die in a way so spectacular that people don't want to look at it. Besides, that's like, anti-knowledge. Anything that prevents interesting things from happening is pretty obviously anti-knowledge. I mean, why are people offended by looking at something so recognizably inhuman and realizing it's a dead body? I think it's a lot more disturbing to see people who look; fucking lack of alcohol. Nevermind.

They have a punch bowl, but I'm guessing it's just regular punch. I sort of question the wisdom of leaving an open thing of punch out in open air, with a bunch of trees and grass and stuff nearby. One time I went on this "fun run", which wasn't actually fun at all. I got to the top and they had open topped drinks ready for all the people who finished. I grabbed one and slammed it down, and you know what? There was a fucking hornet in there and it stung me in the throat. I almost died. I ran to the top of a mountain and almost died. Retarded. Yeah, real smart when you're more concerned about getting soft drinks up the mountain than you are about getting dying people down.

So that's why I; and god damn it, now people are starting to fill in the seats. What with the rows being all lopsided I don't want to get stuck in the middle, so I make my way over to the side nearest the food and sit down. Suddenly some asshole who snuck up behind me starts talking and I turn around to get ready to swear him out. Based on how he's dressed, he's either a minister or just a hipster who's doing it wrong. Which I guess is technically what they do, but they have their own standards for wrong and by their standards this is; right? I don't know how it works. I don't make time for culture. It's just emo posturing from people who need permission to feel important but don't realize it.

The guy talks. "I've seen your picture in the paper. You're the one who was with her when she died, weren't you?" I don't really know what to say to this. Mostly I just don't want to say anything because it means starting up a whole conversation. That's the problem with events like these. There's no socially appropriate way to tell people to fuck off. I notice he's eyeing my clothing with what looks like...? I mean, I really think he almost feels sorry for me or something. "Yeah" I say. Do my thorough disappointment he continues. "I was wondering if, since you were with her last, you wouldn't mind saying a few words? People would be comforted to know that she was content or untroubled in her final hours. Of course" he adds softly "If you aren't in the frame of mind to do this, I understand completely". Like hell he does.

You know what? That sounds to me like a challenge. Fuck this guy. Who does he think he is, saying I can't do something? He smells like liquor. I'm the only person that's allowed to smell like liquor! "Nah bro, I got it under control" I say.

He smiles and starts talking YET AGAIN. "You're doing a great service. The eulogies will begin at the end of the ceremonies. You'll be the last to speak". He staggers off and I'm starting to wonder what the fuck I'm actually going to say. I knew the bitch for all of 45 minutes, and that wasn't even in a row. It doesn't matter, I'll just wing it. It's not like these people will be able to tell the difference anyways, and if they can then they certainly aren't going to call me out on it in public. People are just a bunch of pansies that way.

The seats are really starting to fill in now. I get a look from some guy, who seems indignant at first. Then his wife says something to him and his look changes to the sort of look the preacher gave me. That happens a few more times. Most people either don't notice or aren't as uppity. That's good. I guess I didn't have anything to worry about. I'm just so awesome I can carry off any look I want.

When you're me, everything is in good taste.

The seats are basically full up about now. Everyone is taking their positions. Some music is playing from speakers set up alongside the chairs. It's the normal kind. Boring, stupid, the kind of thing nobody ever listens to. Did this chick listen to this type of music? I bet you a million fucking dollars she didn't. So why play it at her funeral? Put on some trance or something for fucks sake. I bet nobody listens to this shit. Why do they play music nobody likes at funerals? Does it make things more official when they suck?

I sit around not enjoying anything for a while and then finally the services begin. To be honest I don't even really remember most of it. I guess it was the lack of alcohol, it's pretty hard on my memory when I don't have any in my system. The preacher talked, he shut up. A choir sang. People stood up, sat down, stood up again, so many times that we could have been doing the wave. Hey, there's an idea. Why not implement the wave at funerals? I mean, it would add in that whole populist element of crowd participation. The way things are normally people just listen to some self-important douchebag talk the equivalent of a fucking book, all out of his ass since he hardly ever knew the person who died. People are pretty retarded if they need someone they've never met to tell them about their relative's lives.

I tried to pay attention when the parents and siblings started in on the eulogizing, but it was pretty much boring. College this, skydiving that, beating up her brother with a whiffle ball bat. I'm not making that last part up. It was kind of funny. Actually, the brother almost seemed like he was glad she was dead. I mean, he used all the soft rhetorical bullshit but underneath all that he painted a picture of a sister who kicked the shit out of him pretty consistently. I mean, even when you do try to pass it off as humor, if it's all you talk about then it's pretty obvious what you really mean, you limp-wristed faggot. I mean, who even gets beat up by a girl? You'd have to be a queer. Or if you weren't before, you'd end up one just for failing the manhood test so hard. Maybe that's why he's pissed. That would make sense.

People laugh dutifully as this is going on. Suddenly some guy sneaks up behind me, not the preacher this time but I guess some other church person, and tells me that I'm up after this guy. I sigh. Well, better get this over with. I guess I couldn't have asked for a better act to follow. I'm lead up to the side of the pulpit. As the brother steps down, I make my way up and suddenly it starts to dawn on me that this is going to be kind of hard. At least at little bit, on my personal modified scale of 1-3. I'd say it's about a 2.378 or so, give or take. I'm staring out at all these people. I mean, how are they going to; I don't even k; and then in the audience I see, of all people, Johnny. What the fuck is he doing here? And suddenly I remember I don't give a shit.

"Elizabell Louis Oswald" I begin. The guy who lead me up hear does that stupid whisper shout thing. "Elizabeth!" he says. FUCKING ASSHOLE. Like they're even that much different. I roll my eyes and turn back to the crowd of morons here. "Elizabeth Louis Oswald was a close friend of me for some time. I met her at Metropolitan State. She was always very outgoing and friendly" I say, realizing this is safely generic "and loved the company of others." That seems good enough for me, so I go to leave and the guy is just glaring at me like he expects me to continue. I'm FUCKING TRAPPED. Bullshit, MOTHERFUCKER. I look back to the crowd and see my inspiration. Suddenly I start to think. What sort of bullshit got me into this. And I guess Mike is ok at talking in public, so what sort of shit would he say?

"She had strong political opinions. She was a very smart, tough, no nonsense girl who championed common sense and exceptional decency. I remember one time, some guy tried to argue that the government didn't exist, and she tore him apart. He ended up leaving the class, and all the other students were very grateful for it. She believed in providing for the welfare of other human beings and was a strong opponent of those elements of conservatism and racism that would have people fighting each other to provide for their livelihood."

I look down into the audience and see the brother who was just talking. He looks proud to hear this. Was this the same brother she talked about as telling her about college? That would be pretty retarded. I guess families are pretty retarded. I mean, here she was kicking the crap out of him, and apparently with her being the younger. Or maybe they were twins. Or fuck, maybe they're just letting faggots into college early now. I just that would make sense. But still, how fucked up does your family have to be to have something like that? I mean, I guess it could be worse. There's always worse. That's the retarded power of people. I mean hell, my own; no. NO, NO, NO, NO. It's not; I mean it isn't; I mean; it doesn't matter what I mean! NO. but that's not even...

Suddenly I realize that I'm standing here still, having a minor conniption. I don't know how obvious it was. Probably not very. People aren't that perceptive. Whatever, I guess I have to wrap this up. "Elizabeth was a beacon of light in a dark time. Her life was the light, and her death was a product of the culture she sought to dismantle. But her spirit and her quest live on, through us and through our own dedications. We should strive to make the world a better place in her honor."

I drop the microphone. People start clapping. Heh, easy. I step down from the stage and the guy leads me back to my seat. I guess I overestimated how hard it would be. People are pretty dumb. I probably could have walked up there and swore at them for 20 minutes and they wouldn't have made a fuss. They would have thanked me for it. That's good, they ought to. The preacher goes up and puts some sort of fine finish on the whole deal and then they start playing that stupid bullshit music again, which I guess is the cue that I don't have to put up with this crap anymore. People have gotten up, they're busy going up to the coffin and laying down flowers, paying their respects and all. A lot of them are mulling around having conversations.

I look over towards the food. It's predictably all there. I don't get why they have food at funerals. I mean, how hungry does the process make people? I guess there could be; no, there are stupider things, but still. I head on over and start loading up. If nobody else is going to get things started then I might as well. Hell, I bet they're all such cowards they wouldn't touch the food if it weren't for me. It's just a whole bunch of crap, like the first person to benefit from something doesn't really care or is uncultured or something. That's the case with basically everything like this, but at funerals it's blown up to even bigger proportions.

The line immediately starts forming behind me as people gradually decide it's socially appropriate to fucking eat now. Retards. It's the normal fare, cheese and rolls and $8 dollar vegetable trays from Wal-Mart. I think about getting some punch and decide what the hell, why not. As I'm finishing up some lady comes up to me, looks me in the eye and says "thank you". Just like that, in a soft, docile voice. That kind of voice annoys me. It reminds me of the look the preacher gave me. I start tearing into the food. More people are coming up to me now, one at a time. They're all saying thank you or something equivalent and then heading towards the food. I don't get it. No, screw that. I don't want to get it. It isn't worth getting.

The fucking thing is over now so I guess I don't have any reason to stick around. I've managed to stay popular with the swarming mass of fools who occupy the world below me now. I've fulfilled my end of the social contract or whatever. Time to get the fuck out of dodge. So I start making my way out of there and suddenly MOTHEFUCKING JOHNNY shows up and he's blocking my way. People are looking at us. This is bullshit! This is double bullshit! The idiot looks at me and starts talking.

"That was a good speech you gave." He looks at my clothes and hesitates for a moment. I try to use this as a gap to escape but he moves to block me. "Hey listen, if you need any help or anyone to talk to then I'm here for you man." I'm backing up now. Maybe I can escape back into the crowd, but he's following me, pressing me further and further back. I mean, what do I say to this guy? How do I keep my Awesome Points intact while still telling him to fuck off? I swear man. Whatever, maybe my social credibility is strong enough at this point that I can just say it to his face and nobody will give a shit. "Hey listen man, I-" and then suddenly I find myself severely off balance. I realize too late what's going on and shout "FUCK" in the hope that it will imbue me with the necessary psychic energy to right myself. I'm wrong.

I trip over the food table and shit goes flying everywhere. The punch bowl slopes down and drenches me. I pull myself off the table and jump to my feet right as a few people look like they're going to try to help me. Like I need any help you morons. You should have helped me when this douchebag started attacking me with all his bullshit. I stare at him, and in my peripheral vision I catch a sight of a good few hundred people all turning to look at me and then quickly changing their minds. Fucking idiots. They lack conviction, that's their problem. Either pay attention to me for fucking up or pay attention to me for fitting into your stupid preconceptions. Don't fuck around trying to do both.

But I guess that was a good distraction. Johnny looks confused and almost a little bit hurt, which is a shame because whenever Johnny gets hurt it ought to be significant. It ought to be like experiencing an atomic bomb or spending a weekend with Hannibal Lecter. Other people aren't paying attention to me. I speedwalk the fuck out of there, keeping my eyes down so I don't look like I'm trying to talk to anyone or anything. Past the food table which is being set up again, past the long rows of seats, past the; is that a news van? Several, actually. Past those, and then out onto the street, and finally I'm free. I'm free from all this fucking obligation and posturing and overblown storytelling and ridiculously contrived attempts at empathy. I'm making my way back to the hotel. Maybe I can call that cop up again and get drunk. That would be nice. The important thing is just that I don't have to deal with any of this bullshit anymore.

I take a deep breath and turn the corner as I approach the hotel.


	5. Chapter 5

I sat toying with the phone for a bit and decided I didn't want to call that guy after all. He was a whiny bitch. Fuck him. I'm just going to hang out in this hotel and chill. Alone at last, free at last, tired as shit and wishing I had eaten more of that food that I destroyed. I consider taking a shower but then realize that won't do anything about my clothes. Yanking them off down to the underwear I crawl into the bed and turn on the television. The newest episode of my favorite show is on. It's about a douchebag medical doctor who's right about everything. It's pretty realistic which I why I like it. Thinking back now I don't even remember what it was all about. Just some drama and the character learns more about themselves. I mean, it's pretty obvious this character already knows everything so I'm pretty sure that's bad writing.

Oh well.

It finishes up and I start flipping the channels. Infomercials, the Food Network, some old detective show, and then suddenly I see something that in retrospect shouldn't have taken me off guard; me. There's a brief clip of me falling over the fucking punch table, and then they cut to a still shot of the same. JESUS CHRIST, I look like a HOBO. I mean, if anyone can carry the hobo look it's pretty obviously me. I do look pretty snazzy all things considered. But this is still pretty fucked up. I don't even remember seeing cameras. I mean, fuck man! I didn't see the camera that took the newspaper photo either. That's what got me into all this mess in the first place, and made me have to come up with a whole slew of bullshit in front of a huge ass crowd. The media is bullshit. They're like ninja's except they don't do interesting things like kill people.

This is bad. I lay down again and go to sleep for a bit. In my dreams I see big white space like in The Matrix when all the guns show up. Except, nothing is showing up. There's no voice, no Trinity, not even lame ass Neo looking characteristically stupid. It's just, nothing. Fucking stupid dream is fucking stupid. GOD, it's like even when I'm trying to rest I can't escape the bullshit. Fucking bullshit. It goes on like that for what seems like forever, but I guess it's not exactly easy to tell time in a dream. Just when I feel like I'd rather die than put up with this anymore, I wake up.

The phone is ringing. I never thought I would be glad that people decided to bother me. I guess that just goes to show that other people can't even annoy me as well as I can. I mean, that's kind of like one of those paradoxes and then I remember that, oh yeah, the phone is ringing. I pick it up and let them have it. "What do you want?" I say.

The voice comes back over the phone "Is this room 613?"

This is dumb. "Yeah it's room 613, weren't you paying attention when you dialed the fucking number?" I hear a growl on the other side of the phone. Am I talking to a bear? I hope so. That's the type of interruption I deserve. People are boring. Animals at least are entertaining. They aren't pretentious.

The bear opens its mouth and speaks again "This is officer Donahue. Why didn't you call us when the press started following you?"

It sounds like an accusation. I don't like where this is going. "I didn't know they were following me. I mean, they were like fucking ninja's or s-" the asshole, who is decidedly not a bear at this point, interrupts me.

"The agreement was that you would call us if the press started to harass you." There's a silence for a bit. I don't know what to say to this asshole. It doesn't matter anyways, he starts up again. "We're checking you out of the hotel." Ok, now I'm officially pissed off.

"Hey fuck you man, I didn't do anything!"

He seems prepared for this. "The arrangements just went through. Sorry. Taxpayer money is a scarce resource for this department. We can't afford to go throwing it away on little kids who won't play ball." He hangs up. I don't know how to deal with this. I'm trying to find the thoughts to go with the feelings I'm having, and then finally they come.

The media just fucking ruined my life! Here I was, popular and living the good life, away from Johnny and people in general in my own hotel room I didn't even have to pay for, and they go and ruin everything! Somebody needs to do something about these fucking news people. They ought to pass a law; they ought to pass ten laws! Fucking hell. And then they should shoot anybody that disobeys the law, right through the fucking head, and put them on tv! Yeah, that would do it. Although I guess technically that would mean employing more newspeople in the long run. But on the other hand tv would be better at least. Well I'm glad I got that out of my system. Now I need to figure out what I want to do. At least I don't have to pack. That's good at least. I start to wonder if maybe the room is cleaned up and then I realize that's retarded. Of course it isn't, that would imply competence. Johnny would probably let me stay with him wherever he is, but fuck that. I'd rather actually be homeless. Then I could build up some awesome street cred and start a career as a freestyle rapper. On the other hand I don't really like rap. I mean, I appreciate the values it stands for and everything, but the music itself just seems to lack energy. It's so mopey and full of itself. I'm not sure I want to be a part of that scene.

I sit down and put my hands in my pockets, and I feel something. It's that pamphlet from the Anarchist club. Maybe it can get me out of this mess. It's brought me nothing but good fortune so far. I open it up and see the author. Mike Hawk. Beneath that in underlined italic is an email address: _labourtheorist _ I sit staring at it for a while. Something is eluding me about this text, this particular arrangement of symbols and phonemes. It's as if it has some deeper significance. I'm puzzling over it when suddenly I burst out laughing. I figured it out. This is the gayest author info ever. I mean, think about it. Mike Hawk. My. Cock. And then the email address. Hot Male.

I sit there laughing about it for a good ten minutes or so, or however long. I don't know, I'm not very good at keeping track of time. Then I decide on a plan. First I tear all the bedsheets off the fucking beds and throw them onto the air conditioner, which is set to heat right now. I know these types of bedsheets don't burn but they do this weird melting thing. I found out one time after throwing them onto a heater out of curiosity. Then I turn the television cabinet completely around, just for the fuck of it, pick up a coffee table and put it on the bed, and then I'm out. I'm heading down to the lobby. It didn't look like they had a computer there but there's one behind the desk. I'll just use that one.

I go up to the lady at the counter. It's the same fat bitch as before. I ring the bell just to make sure I have her attention, even though she's already looking at me.

"Excuse me, but can I please use your computer? I have an email I have to send and it's very urgent". She stares at me with the look of ham in her eyes and opens her great big pig face.

"I'm sorry sir, but this computer isn't for use by customers". This isn't what I want to hear.

"What do you mean? It has an internet connection, doesn't it?" Her infernal gaze continues.

"Yes sir, but-" I fucking cut her off like a vespa on the freeway.

"Oh my god, I can't believe this! My girlfriend gets shot by the cops and now I'm getting kicked out of my hotel, on to top it all off I can't even send one lousy email!" The pigbeast's eyes begin to widen, almost seeming to demonstrate a sign of intelligence. A revelation is dawning on her, perhaps. Maybe she's just managed to match my face to one of the apparently many pictures that have been taken of me. My suspicions are confirmed.

"I'm sorry sir, please let me get out of your way. I'm so sorry." She gets up and lumbers away from her nest and I hop the counter and sign into gmail.

I fire off the first thing that pops into my head. "MIKE I AM GET KICKED OUT OF MY PLACE BY THE COPS CAM I STAY WIT U". I hit send. After waiting a good five minutes or whatever it was, I'm just about ready to give up when suddenly an email pops up in my inbox. "Sure man, no problem. What are comrades for after all? Those fascist pigs will pay. Soon capitalism will no longer be sustainable and then the people will implement a new order. There won't be any place in it for them, needless to say. I'm just finishing up attending a Q&A by my favorite author at Barnes and Noble. Where do you want to meet? I can pick you up."

I think for a bit about what is nearby, fairly warm, and interesting enough for me to stay occupied while I'm waiting. I hit reply. "WAL MART". A second later the response comes. "Ok, sounds good. I should be there in about half an hour". I hop back over the counter. The pig beast is looking at me as if it is expecting my approval, but this would be to dignify it and therefore give it a status equal to man. Worse actually, equal to me. So I ignore her and make my way briskly out the hotel into the cold streets outside. Wal Mart is maybe five blocks from here. If I can just walk fast enough maybe I won't run into any well-wishers. Maybe I can stay safe from the news ninja's, even.

Sure enough, I arrive without incident. It's going to be a while before Mike gets here, so I guess I better get started gawking at things. First things first. I walk to the sports section to look at all the equipment I'm never going to use and don't care about. I figure the least interesting things should be the first part of the tour. An employee comes over to ask me if I'm interested in anything. I think about just telling him to fuck off, but then I realize that doesn't kill time efficiently enough. I string him along for a good long while, making him think that I'm interested. Then I tell him to fuck off.

After that I wander over to the tupperware section. Tupperware is technically more interesting than sports equipment, but only because it's more efficient for storing alcohol. I knew a guy who tried to brew moonshine in a skiboot once. He ended up getting a lung fungus. I mean, I guess that makes the question whether he should have tried drinking it instead of inhaling it but that's just semantics and besides, I don't really want to risk it. Tupperware is also cool because if you have enough of it then you don't have to cook more than maybe once a month.

Getting bored of that I head over to the automotive section and stare at all the little dashboard toys and replacement lights. Some of the steering wheel and seat covers look pretty cool. Almost cool enough for me to want to get a job so I can afford a car to put them in. Then of course there's all the custom shifters. A motherfucking skull man. Also, a dragon. Boss. Totally boss. I'd kill for this shit. Contemplating it is starting to get the better of me though. I better get out of here before I lose it.

I head back to the video games section. Video games are the only people that understand me. They know how awesome violence is and they don't bother with all this stupid talking and philosophy and shit. The only talking people do in games is in preparation for violence, and that's not really talking at all. That's using words as an extension of violence. Words ought to be used that way. Anything else is a lie, in my opinion. There's this new game out that's about this underwater city of faggots that tried to worship capitalism and then got their shit rocked for being so retarded. I bet that's the sort of think Mike would like. I should ask him about it. It's technically a sequel.

What seems like more time than I ever spend consciously planning things has passed at this point. I guess it's time to start finishing up this tour. I head over to the women's lingerie section and check that shit out. Some of it's pretty tasty. I like things with lace, and call me a fag but I like the way some of this is pink. I know that's pretty fancy terminology for a hetero guy to be using to talk about clothes, but like I said I'm good at everything. I just learn from osmosis. I don't have to give a shit about clothes or nothing, I still end up learning as much as anybody about them. Some women are gawking at me. I bet they think I'm being romantic. I wonder if I can pick up any chicks while I'm here? Suddenly something gives me the idea that I should move on, so I do.

Last stop, junk food isle. I'm being extra-careful looking this stuff over. I know I'm going to get something but I don't know what. Twinkees? Nah, too generic. Maybe a hostess fruit pie? Those are pretty cool, but I'm pretty sure they belong to the hipsters now ever since that guy on the internet wrote about them. People on the internet are stupid. They build entire subcultures devoted to things that normal people would enjoy if they weren't afraid of getting called out by the fanatics. I mean, there's fucking subcultures devoted to porn even. When you take something like sex and make it so people are afraid to do it because they'll get called out for not being sufficiently elitist, that's just fucked up. I mean, people will try pretty much anything if it involves sex. People are retarded.

Then I see it. BBQ Pork Rinds. I've actually never had these before. Or Pork Rinds at all for that matter. All I know is that people say they're completely terrible for you, and if people say that then it must be good because that's just how it works. I started drinking for the same reason and I don't regret it. Best 12 years of my life. I yank the jumbo bag off the rack because it's actually cheaper than the small ones. I mean, not just cheaper per ounce or whatever but actually cheaper on the whole. I don't understand why they do that. It's pretty dumb. I guess people are just willing to pay more for smaller sizes because they're more fashionable or something, so companies just jack up the prices on the stuff people buy. That would make sense. Kind of like why iPod's are so much more expensive than every other MP3 player. They do that with soda too.

Speaking of Soda, I want to get some. It's a special occasion though so I don't want any of the normal brands. None of those stupid store brands either. Those are terrible. I mean, I guess a couple are okay, but their version of Sprite tastes like Mountain Dew and their version of Root Beer tastes like... I don't know. I guess it tastes like brown. That's the only way to describe it. Then I see something awesome. It's a 2 liter of Grape Soda. Is Grape Soda any good? I've never had it before.

They say black people like it, and if that's true then it's probably pretty good. I like pretty much everything they say black people like, except for rap music. I'm ahead of the curve that way. Really it just comes with an education, the reason people are racist is because they're retarded. I'm sure if they just tried Grape Soda they would like black people. People should be more respectful of other cultures and not try to force their values on other people.

I grab that sucker off the shelf and head for the register. When I get there the line is pretty long. There's only like two registers open which is stupid. Exploiting the workers as usual I guess. Geeze, fucking Wal-Mart. Corporations are stupid. They can't do anything right. There's a magazine about Somalia or something. I mean, couldn't they have put a magazine about something people care about there? Like tv or celebrities? Morons as usual. I can't believe how stupid this country is now. I mean, I bet things weren't this stupid back in the day when Ben Franklin was president. That was a man who knew how to handle things.

The girl at the register tries to talk to me but I don't respond. She realizes I don't give a shit and just rings up my stuff. "That'll be $1.98, sir". She emphasizes the sir. Fucking bitch. I swipe my card and pick up the stuff. "Sir wait, it didn't go through. You'll have to try it again." I hate this so much. The bitch probably fucked it up just to spite me. I swipe the card again. After waiting for a while, she turns to me again. "It didn't go through". God damn corporations can't do anything right. I take out my wallet and pay in cash. I hate paying in cash. I need that cash to buy things from vending machines and to get lottery tickets and shit. I don't get why they don't let people buy lottery tickets with credit card. I mean, what's the worst that can happen? Also, if it happens would it at least be amusing? Because then I could get behind it even if it was pretty fucked up. Or actually, since it was really fucked up, I guess, would be the way to; ah whatever.

I take my shit and then out of curiosity I head over to the atm to look at my balance. I swipe the card through and print out the receipt. Checking, $-348.76, Savings, $17,983.47. I don't get why they don't just take the money out of savings and put it in checking. My bank is retarded. I've been thinking about changing but it would probably be too much work. Besides, I bet every other bank would do the same thing. I don't even remember what all I've been spending money on. Maybe I went on a shopping spree while I was drunk, but in that case it should still be pretty obvious what I bought. Or maybe I just bought more liquor and drank it that night. Actually, some of what I had in the dorm might have been stuff I bought.

It doesn't matter anyways. I throw the receipt away and go outside to wait. Sitting down on a bench I pop open the Grape Soda. It's actually pretty ok. It tastes like Kool-Aid would if Kool-Aid were retarded. It's certainly better than any of the store-brand soda. I take a big swig of it and let it wash around my mouth a bit, then swallow. Then I tear open the bag of Pork Rinds and pull some out. These things look disgusting, they're all covered in; is that hair? Gross. For a second I think about just throwing the whole thing away except then I remember why I bought it. More importantly I remember that it cost money so I don't want it to go to waste. At least, not without finding out whether the ratio of whining to awesome is something that always holds true. I close my eyes and shove a handful in my mouth.

They're... not exactly good, but I wouldn't call them bad either. It's like somebody smothered bacon in barbeque sauce and wrapped the whole thing in Styrofoam. I mean, Styrofoam isn't really that bad. I'm used to eating things off of it, at least. Sometimes I chew up Styrofoam cups just to show them who's boss. It's just weird to actually be ingesting something that reminds me of it. I grab another handful, being careful not to look at it this time, and then go for the grape soda again. The result is what I can only call strange. Mixing bland, meat flavored Styrofoam with really sharp artificial grape isn't exactly what I would call a taste sensation. Best not to think about that though. I might get queezy and that's not what I'm after.

I look up and see Mike out in the parking lot. He's heading towards me but I don't feel like going out to meet him. Then I see he's heading towards the other entrance so I get up and head over to cut him off. Why does he have to inconvenience me like this? Does he think he's better than me or something. Whatever. I hit him on back of the shoulder right as he's about to go inside and he turns around. Seeing it's me he smiles, which shows that at least he knows how to properly react to my presence, unlike some people. "Hey man, how you holding up?" he says. Well, I guess he's not any better at conversation. I fucking hate that question.

"I'm cool dude. So which one's your car?" I say.

"I'm the blue Ford Expedition over there" he points, using his entire hand like some sort of eurofag.

"ok cool, let's get the fuck out of here" I tell him, and he smiles again and we head over to his SUV. At least he's got a decent taste in cars. I wonder what kind of place he lives at.

I get into the passenger seat and it already feels like a throne. SUV's are cool. They put you above everyone physically which means they put you above everybody in real life too. I think everybody knows this which is why environmentalists don't like them. All those people have inferiority complexes, like they think animals are more important to them. Maybe they should all go get eaten by a bear then if they like them so much. It's fucking stupid. Mike climbs in to the drivers seat and starts it up.

"Nicfe cah" I say through a mouthful of Pork Rinds.

"Thanks" he says "I just got it a month ago. It's pretty handy for carrying club members around when we go pamphleteering". Like I give a shit about pamphleteering.

"Thasf cooa" I say, as he turns out of the parking lot onto the street.

Things are quiet for a while so I try to think of something to say. I don't really know anything about Mike. I met him pretty much randomly and we've only known each other for a few days. I'm surprised he was ok with me staying with him. Hey, maybe this will turn out like that movie Fight Club and we'll end up being the same person. That would be boss. Then I could shoot myself in the face and be awesome forever. Except that the club in Fight Club was cooler because it was about fighting. I bet they never did any pamphleteering. What kind of pamphleteering does an anarchy club do anyway? Shit sucks. Schizophrenia would have been cool.

What the fuck can I talk about? I don't want to seem uncool, but I don't know what to say. Hey, maybe I can ask about that book signing he was attending. I go ahead and wash down what I have in my mouth and turn to him. "So, what was that book thing you were talking about?" He turns the wheel and we get onto the highway.

"Oh, that?" he says "It was one of my favorite philosophers. I have all of his books, or at least all of them except Archon Agression." That's a pretty cool title. It has the word aggression in it. I hope it's an instruction manual.

"So what's he all about?" I say.

Mike thinks for a second. "Well basically" he says "he's all about showing the hypocrisy of western culture. Like how western metaphysics is ostensibly all about consistency, when in reality there are all these contradictions in it. But these contradictions come to be accepted and even glorified as adding meaning or value to western thought and philosophy. Then that philosophy is used to subjugate and oppress minorities and other cultures."

I'm nodding. I don't really know what the fuck he just said but I guess that's ok. I'll just wing it. "Yeah dude, people are pretty big hypocrites" I take another gulp of Grape Soda. "I mean, it's like that libertarian guy. Saying that we need government to enforce property rights in order to have peace.

That's like fucking for virginity, or, uh, whatever it..." Mike goes ahead and treats it like a complete thought, which he ought to. Mike seems like a pretty cool guy. He isn't full of bullshit like other people.

"Exactly" he says "it's just that old saw about the ends justifying the means. That's all those uncle tom anarchist's ideas really come down to anyways. At least if you press them hard enough."

Mike gets off the highway now. "Yeah, and like, it's so fucked up. Because, isn't it supposed to be that things can only cause things that are like the things they are, or something?" Mike smiles, signals, and changes lanes.

"According to western metaphysics" he says.

We're turning into an alley now, running behind a long row of houses. It's an old inner city sort of neighborhood, the kind of place where poor white people live or maybe gays. The houses are stupid and there are trees and bushes and shit everywhere. He hits a button and a garage opens and in we go. He closes it even though I don't see a door. Then I look over to the right and see it. Man, this place is closer to a shed than a garage. I'm almost finished with my pork rinds now so I try and cram the last bit into my mouth. I chew for a bit and then take a giant swig of the grape soda. Except there's a problem.

I've got so much in my mouth right now that I can't actually swallow, and it's pretty fucked up because now that I'm having to taste this shit altogether at the same time for more than 5 seconds, it's really disgusting. I start to work it down, bit by bit, opening the door and jumping out of the car.

Then something terrible happens. I didn't realize it until after we stopped, but apparently I was carsick. Combined with the terrible taste sensation I inflicted upon myself this is all too much. I throw up all over the garage floor right as Mike walks around the front of his car. "Ah man!" he says "Are you alright?" This is fucking embarrassing. Usually when I throw up I don't give a shit about what other people think about me, but this is about having a place to live. And pamphleteering. Or... something.

"I'm fine dude, I'm alright. It's cool."

Mike looks unconvinced. "You've had it tough the past few days, haven't you" he says " Don't worry about that, I'll clean it up later. Come on and I'll show you where you're staying." I feel like I just spent all the cool points I earned during the car ride over. I'm actually pretty much upset, but I figure there's nothing to say so I go ahead and follow him.

We go in through the back door and I can already tell this place is old. There are like, three different floors layered over each other, each layer chipping away to show the one beneath it. And that's just in the weird lobby space thing near the back door. There's a spiderweb cracked tile floor after that, leading into the kitchen. It isn't polished. Then after the kitchen is an equally unpolished wood floor. I look out in that direction, thinking that's where Mike is going to take me, but instead he leads me to the right down a flight of the most half-assed stairs I've ever seen in my entire life. They sound like they're going to come to life and kill us as we walk down them into the basement. There in the basement is a single lightbulb, hanging over a pipe from an extension chord but at least with some weird switch thing attached right there. At the far side of the room is a single mattress, no bedsheets, laying flat on the floor.

"Well" Mike says "It's not much, but it's home. I'll go get you some bed sheets." With that he ventures back upstairs and I'm sitting here pondering my surroundings. There's an old boiler that seems like it's from the 1800's, and a huge network of pipes leading all through the fucking ceiling and shit.

Spiderwebs are in a lot of places, and the floor slopes downward towards the center where there's a big drain, right in the middle of the whole thing. This place is unlike anything I've ever seen before. Most people never would have even dreamed of putting someone up in a place like this. I'm trying to gather my thoughts to address the sheer spectacle of it when Mike shows up once more, throwing the sheets onto the bed rather abruptly.

"So" he says "what do you think?" I turn to him and let him know my exact thoughts.

"This place is fucking awesome!" I say. Mike smiles. It's funny, because it seems like that's basically his default reaction. Just the same though it doesn't piss me off like it would with most people who are predictable. It actually makes Mike seem even easier to deal with, like I know something about him. Suddenly I get a shiver and I go ahead and punch myself in the arm. Not because it will stop the shiver. I actually don't know why I did it. It hurts pretty bad now. Mike stopped smiling and is barely hiding concern. "Hey man, feel free to let yourself wander around the house as you please. If you need anything, just let me know. I'm here for you ok?" he says. I hesitantly make eye contact. He takes that as a sign and starts grinning nervously, then keeps talking "Just try not to make too much noise at night. I share this place with three other people. You're going to meet Danny when he comes home later. He sleeps over there" he gestures towards a closet I hadn't noticed before.

"ok" I say, and leave it at that. Mike gives me one last look and heads back upstairs. If I have to share this place that's kind of lame. I thought I would have had it to myself. This is dumb. I hate dealing with people and I'm probably going to hate Danny. Nah, it's pretty much a sure thing. Mike was one in a million, and I even hate him a little bit. I go ahead and start making the bed. It strikes me that I don't have a pillow but I guess that doesn't really matter. I'll just sleep on my back or maybe I'll use my arm as a headrest or something. I finish making the bed and just lie down for a bit. Mike is probably cleaning up my puke right now. I sort of wonder why he would do that.

Actually, I sort of wonder why Mike would do any of the things he's done for me so far. It doesn't really make sense to me. I mean, first he told me how to make a move on my girlfriend, then he let me into his stupid club even though I was trying to conquer it, and now he's letting me sleep in his house. I don't get it. Maybe he's just a cool guy, but more likely he's just lucky. It's a good thing he didn't help me get in with that Elizabeth chick whose face exploded. I probably wouldn't have forgiven him for that. Just the same it's kind of unsettling, but also a little bit nice. Maybe some people just aren't as fucking retarded as others. I hadn't thought of that before. Whatever, I guess it doesn't make sense to trouble over it too much.

I get up and decide to walk around a check out the house. I climb up the stairs pretty carefully, although it doesn't stop them from being a douchebag. I turn to go into the kitchen. There's like, a twenty year old refrigerator there with newspaper clippings about things and those refrigerator magnets with words on them. They aren't being used to make poetry or anything. I've actually never seen them used that way. They're always just there. Why even buy them then? Do people just like having random words all over their fucking refrigerators? I turn around and the sink and counter are covered with pots and pans and dishes. I sure hope there are enough left for cooking, because I'm starting to get hungry. I guess throwing up everything you've eaten can do that, although I don't think it works that way for bulimic chicks. Maybe they can do it because they're just put together differently, like martial artists or jews.

I go ahead and look through the refrigerator. There's milk, butter, and bread. Lame. The freezer doesn't even have anything in it, not even ice even though there's an ice tray. Closing it, I leave the kitchen and see Mike sitting at a computer. "Hey" I say. He turns his head and nods at me.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Right now I'm just reading through some of my favorite blogs" he says.

"So, what are they talking about?"

"Well, right now a lot of people are busily anticipating this genius work by an editorialist" he rolls his eyes as he's talking "who says that the rise of fascism in the 20th century can be traced to progressive ideology". I don't get why Mike always has to talk like this. It was cool when he was using it to control people, but now he just sounds like a fag. I try and think of a response.

"But, uh, aren't the progressives, like, government... people?"

He seems thoughtful for a second and then responds. "Well, I think their heart is in the right place, but ultimately I just think the historical trend of government becoming simply a tool for the rich is too strong to ignore. Just the same, guys like this one hardly help matters in either way." Seems like a good explanation to me. I sort of almost want to ask him more about this stuff, but I can't think of anything.

"Ok, that's pretty cool then" I say, and then go off to wander around some more. I see the bathroom, which I promptly use to clean my shirt off a little from all the dirt and punch and vomit that's caked up over it. Then suddenly I'm struck by an idea, so I go back over to talk to Mike.

"Hey Mike, is it ok if I ask you a favor?" I say.

He seems happy to hear me say this. "Sure, what do you need?"

"Well, do you have any clothes I can borrow? All of mine got left at the dorm when they turned it into a crime scene or whatever, and I've been wearing these for a while now." He laughs pretty loudly which kind of pisses me off. It isn't his normal chuckle, the fucker is actually laughing at me. I'm about to say something to him when he responds to the question.

"You should have said something earlier. Yeah come on, follow me." He gets up from the computer and leads me into a bedroom. I wait at the door and he pulls out a couple of t-shirts and a pair of pants. He brings them back to me and puts them in my arms. "Here" he says.

"Cool thanks" I say and go back into the bathroom to change.

These clothes are kind of loose on me but at least they're clean. I didn't really think about it before but I guess Mike is kind of athletic or something. Like, not pro-wrestler athletic or anything but just sort of maybe like what a sprinter would look like or something. I kind of feel bad that I couldn't keep up my workout schedule, but things have been pretty hectic lately and after that rest day it was hard to make time for it during all the club activities and drinking and stuff. Oh, and the funeral. That was pretty hectic too. I don't really know what to say at this point. Mike seems nice and all but I'm kind of nervous around him, like maybe if I say the wrong thing he'll suddenly stop liking me or tell me to leave. The cops told me to leave and I got along pretty well with them. Or at least one of them. Maybe I'm just being paranoid.

I head down to the basement and chill for a while longer. It's nice and cool down here, but not too cold. In a way I like it better than the hotel. I can't really put my finger on what it is. Maybe I just like basements better than 6th floor hotel rooms. I've never really thought about it before. I lay down and relax, the time seems to go by pretty quick even though I'm not doing anything or really thinking about anything. After a while of that Mike comes down and tells me they're getting ready to cook dinner. I don't know who he's talking about besides him. I guess he was telling me that he shared the place with some people. What was the other guy's name? Donny? Well whatever. I head upstairs and Mike gives me a job in the cooking.

"You see this bowl?" he says? I nod. "Ok, take this bowl and fill it with water." I go ahead and do so. He's busy chopping up vegetables and some other guy is pulling out spices. While he's still chopping Mike opens his mouth again. "Ok, see those noodles?" he points to a block of noodles without looking, still busy chopping.

"Yeah?" I say.

"Take those noodles, and put them in the water."

"Ok" I say "what do I do now?"

He grins, still busy chopping. "Now take the bowl, and put it in the microwave." I follow his instructions.

"ok, now what?" Mike stops for a second and appears to give the subject some consideration.

"About five minutes ought to do it". I hit the timer and start it. It's really weird but I feel satisfied even though at the same time it seems like the whole thing was completely pointless.

"That was dumb" I laugh, and Mike grins at me.

"Hey" he says "if you want dinner you have to either help cook or clean. That's one of the rules in this house." I think about that for a second.

"So... do you need me for anything else?" Mike is done cutting now. He's throwing some of the vegetables into a pot of boiling water.

"Nope" he says. I feel confused again. I go ahead and make my way over to the computer and start browsing the internet. Not blogs though. I actually don't even know any blogs. Just the websites like Newgrounds and Albinoblacksheep and all those other ones with the flash cartoons and the parody's and shit. I start to watch one of my favorite ones and then feel guilty about it, so I exit out.

What is it I really want to do? I think for a second, then start to scroll through his history. I decide on one page at random. The Poor Man Institute. I hit enter. The banner is pretty cool. It has a furry in it, but he's used pretty intellectually. The slogan is awesome too. "For Freedom and Democracy and a Pony." I mean, it's a little bit fruity, but the pony part has me sold. Pony's are badass. Someone needs to figure out how to attach a machine gun to a pony, that would be perfect. I look through the stuff this guy's talking about. I don't really understand most of it. He's using pretty big words. I guess if Mike says it's cool then it probably is. I mean, I can pick out the gist of it. Basically this guy is talking about how all these people are retarded. That's a pretty cool angle. I think I can get behind that.

Maybe I'll come back to it later. I start to just type random shit into google and hit enter, but I get bored of that pretty quickly. After a while I just don't feel up to it. I drift on over back to the kitchen to watch Mike and all them. The vegetables are still cooking, and now the other guy is cooking some rice. I feel so useless right now, it's fucking annoying, so I just start to wander around the house. There's a bookshelf over here. It's filled with a bunch of fucking books. Some of them are pretty big but others are more like that pamphlet Mike gave me. I notice one called "The Logic of Scientific Oppression". That sounds pretty cool. Maybe it's about how to use lazers and shit to take over the world. It makes sense that Mike would have a book like that. I bet it's banned from most places on account of being too awesome.

I take the thing off the shelf when suddenly I hear the front door open. I don't really know what to do so I just sort of stand there. This person walks through the doorway into the room and I say hi.

"Hi" they respond "I haven't seen you before. Are you one of Andrew's friends?"

I put the book down. "Nah, I'm Mike's friend. So who are you?"

"I'm Danny" she says. I just realized it was a girl. I mean, I should have realized more quickly because she doesn't really look like a dude except that she's dressed like one and, I don't know, I guess it was kind of hard to tell alright? Just shut up. She's probably a Dyke. That would make sense. Not that I have anything against that except that it means more competition in the dating game and that's kind of fucked up.

She looks into the kitchen and seems disappointed and for a second I can't think of why, but then I remember what Mike said. She's stuck on dish duty, ahaha. That's pretty funny. Especially considering all I had to do was put some noodles in a microwave. She sits down at the computer and starts looking through things. I think they're blogs and news websites and stuff like that but I don't really care. I would talk to her some more but if she's dressed like that then maybe I shouldn't bother. I don't get how Mike can put up with her. It would drive me crazy having to live with a chick I wasn't fucking. Like a constant taunt.

Just thinking about it gives me shivers. Suddenly Mike calls out from the kitchen. "Foods done" he says, as he comes walking out with a great big plate of it. Yeah asshole, sure thing, help yourself I guess. I go in and start to put the stuff together. Rice first then noodles then vegetables, then this weird sauce thing they have out. The rice is seasoned pretty heavily but it smells ok, the noodles smell good, the vegetables smell alright. I mean, there's more to it than that of course. They all have a distinctive aroma. That's fag talk though and I don't really feel like bothering with it, especially since the only girl nearby wouldn't even be impressed by it. Or maybe she would. It wouldn't be the right kind of impressed though.

Suddenly I realize that there isn't a fucking table anywhere in this house, and that everybody literally just scattered to the four goddamn winds. That's ok though I guess. Trying to talk while eating is stupid. I don't get why it's supposed to be culturally correct to talk at the dinner table but people always yell at you for talking with your mouth full. Either make up your minds or stop trying to multitask, you fuckwits. I mean seriously. It's not that big a deal, but then again everyone always has to make it into one. So I guess it's pretty cool that isn't how things work here. I noticed Danny hasn't come over to get any of the food yet. I'm kind of wondering so I go over to talk to her.

"Hey" I say.

"Hey" she responds.

"Aren't you going to get any food?"

"I'll get some later." This is driving me crazy. Someone is passing up food to read. People are put together weird, I swear.

"What are you doing?" She seems to not hear me at first, but then I realize she's just finishing a paragraph. I guess she would get lost otherwise. It must be hard to try and think when you don't have the brainpower of a man, so I can forgive her for it.

"I'm reading about corporate practices." That seems like a pretty stupid thing to give up food for.

"That sounds pretty boring" I tell her.

"Not really" she says "This site keeps track of all the human rights abuses and unethical activities of Fortune 500 companies." I'm a little bit more interested now so I inch a bit closer. I don't want to catch the gay but I have a pretty strong immune system so it's pretty unlikely.

"Like what?" I ask.

"Well" she says "like whether or not they have defense contracts, whether they operate sweatshops or take advantage of labor in countries with weak labor rights, and what their hiring and firing practices are."

That's a little bit more interesting than it initially sounded, but not much. "So who's like, the worst company?"

She seems to appreciate this question. "Well this one I'm looking at right now, Applied Supersystems, has contracts with the defense department, operates in Somalia and Indonesia, and has a terrible track record with minorities."

I can tell this conversation isn't going anywhere. "Well that's pretty cool" I say, then I catch myself "the website I mean".

She smiles. "Yeah, I think it's pretty useful. It helps me know how to spend my money without killing brown people in the process."

I can't help but laugh. I sort of wonder if it was the appropriate response but if it isn't it's not like I care, she's only a woman. It's not like I'll get kicked out of here if offend her. Or at least I don't think I will. Maybe I should ask Mike about the rules. Or at least try to trick him into revealing them without showing I'm interested. I'm starting to get hungry though and I realize that I allowed myself to get sidetracked by the same bullshit as this chick did even when food was involved, which is kind of hypocritical I guess. Not that it matters for me, but still. "Well I'm going to go eat" I say.

"Ok" she says. That's kind of dumb. Usually people say more than that. This chicks short-winded, which is kind of cool because it's the opposite of long-winded. It's really too bad that she's a lesbian.

I fuck off down to the basement and just sort of eat there. Now that I have the chance to taste the food altogether it's kind of terrible. Like, completely terrible. It's retarded. If each individual ingredient is good then how the fuck can you end up with something this terrible by combining them? I mean, wouldn't you have to be the worst chef ever? Or maybe it's just magic? Although I guess technically it wasn't one chef but a bunch of chefs. But then Mike planned it all. I guess that makes him the bad chef. Except, maybe it wasn't the recipe but we just didn't have the skill to pull it off? In which case it's our fault. But then the fact Mike had us do it in the first place shows he didn't know what he was doing yet again, so clearly it's all his fault.

Nah, it's definitely magic. I mean, first of all it's mean to blame Mike. Second of all he seems pretty smart. I mean, he talks about things and reads about things and stuff that I don't even know what it is, and he knows how to control people which is pretty cool. Like a real life Jedi, except without the lightsaber or half the interesting stuff. So it has to be magic. And especially since all the ingredients were good. I mean, how do you get something bad from stuff that's only good? It doesn't make any sense. It's mathematically impossible, probably, and if it's not then math is stupid and doesn't know what it's talking about.

I pick my way through the plate of food bit by bit until I get tired of it, and just put it down. It's pretty much the worst thing I've ever tasted. It's even worse than that time I tried grape soda with bbq pork rinds. I think about taking the plate up but I don't really feel like it. Besides, if I do that then it means that Danny has to wash another dish. If I don't then she doesn't, and I also get to keep the dish which I think is reward enough for me. I'll just throw away the food sometime tomorrow and hide it. When I leave I can take it with me. It's a pretty cool looking dish. Hopefully the taste of food doesn't stick with it.

I lay down and just sort of let the day hit me. It feels like it was different than most days. Maybe a little harder to deal with but I guess that's ok. I pull the sheets over me, and around me, and then underneath me, and kind of repeat the process a bit until I have it right. Stupid sheets. They're really bad at multitasking. It's like they don't know how to be sheets and bed liner and the same time. Ah well. After a while it doesn't matter, but in a good way; in a different way that it normally doesn't; and I just sort of drift off to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

I wake up and then go back to sleep. But then I wake up again and stay that way. Man, it feels weird waking up here. It seemed like a perfect place to end a day but now that I'm starting one here; well, nevermind. I wonder what Mike and them are up to? I head upstairs and they aren't in the kitchen. They aren't over by the computer either. Fuck man, it doesn't seem like they're here at all. They just up and left. What day is today even? I don't even remember. I think I have class tomorrow but I'm not sure I even want to go. Things would probably be pretty fucked up there and I basically hate the school now anyways. The damn place practically ruined my life. Hey, maybe Mike's at school. That would make sense. Fucker shouldn't have left without me though. I guess he technically shouldn't have woken me up either. Why can't people just follow my schedule? It's all so inconvenient.

I wander the rest of the way around the house and check shit out. There's another computer in a room near the front door, and then there are a couple of bedrooms. The bedrooms are weird. They look all well furnished and nice as opposed to the rest of the house. It's like there are just two rooms in the entire place that were just grafted on for the fuck of it. I couldn't sleep in a room like either of those though. They're too fucking boring. I'm pretty sure the lameness would keep me awake. Fucking sucks though, what am I going to do while everyone's gone? I can't just leave, can I? What if I get locked out, or if I leave the locks undone someone might come and rob the place. I'm the only person standing between this house and a wave of dangerous criminals. If they come and fuck with this place I'll be ready. I took Tae Kwon Do one time. Well, I really only got to yellow belt, but that's ok because it had Hapkido too which they said was a type of grappling. Maybe I should join the WWE. I kinda don't want to get hit though, so only if they have it so I never lose or else just pay me a bunch.

God damn it though, it's just like; I woke up and I thought I would just go to Mike and he would tell me what to do or something, and I would just sort of go with things like I have been and it would be an adventure and work itself out. He's not here though so that doesn't work. What the fuck am I supposed to do? Normally in a situation like this I have stuff to fall back on, like liquor, but there wasn't any in the fridge and I can't go out and get some. Then I realize how long it's really been since I had so much as a beer and it just makes me angry. Man, fuck Mike. Fuck everyone. This shit is bullshit.

I sit down by the computer and just sort of sit there. I'm trying to think but I don't really want to. It's so inconvenient I fucking hate it. If Mike were here I would punch him only because I would be doing something else. After a while of just sort of sitting, I start going through the websites in the browser history. I mean, it's pretty close to just going with the flow, except there aren't any other people. It's also pretty much boring but I mean what else am I going to do, read some of the fucking books on the shelf over there? Nah dude I think this is pretty much the best I can manage. The first page sounds retarded, it's called "Transgressing the Boundaries: Towards a Transformative Hermeneutics of Quantum Gravity". That's so fucking gay. I can't believe people write shit like this seriously. There's too many fucking words, fuck looking at that.

The next page is just a response to that criticizing it for some reason, which is pretty much just as gay as the thing it was criticizing. I mean, if you're going to call bullshit then you should make sure you aren't full of shit. Otherwise you're just perpetuating an endless cycle. I don't know though, at the same time I can maybe understand. If I got paid to perpetuate an endless cycle I'm pretty sure I'd do it. I mean, I would have pretty good job security so that would be nice. Also whenever anyone tried to criticize me I'd just criticize them back and incorporate it into part of my shtick. That would be sweet. I'd be like, the ultimate badass intellectual, totally not giving a fuck or anything. People would get pissed but it wouldn't matter because I'd have all the money and all the girls and they wouldn't be able to do jack shit about it.

After that it's... oh shit, it's that website that Danny was talking about last night. Applied Supersystems. Man, this company is stupid. I don't get why people want to fuck up the world so bad. I mean, things are pretty obvious with how they work and everyone with common sense understands them. Why can't other people just go along with stuff? When I heard Mike talking about shit I went along with it, because I had common sense. All these assholes have got to know better, they're just fucking things up because they think it's funny or something. That's why I think violence is cool. You don't have to worry about whether or not people will listen to reason when you have a gun. And then there's just the aesthetics of it. I mean, I didn't like it when they killed that girl in my apartment. That's different though, that was violence being used by bad people, like Mike said.

Then I remember some of the other stuff Mike said like how governments always end up working for the bad guys. This shits complicated. Fuck man, I have to say, maybe I'm just not good at this. It's probably just because I'm not drinking though. That would make things easier. But I mean, maybe they should just disassociate violence from government so that only the people can use it. Like a constitutional amendment or something. I bet that would fix things. That way all the guns would be pointed in the right direction, at the motherfuckers who fuck things up on account of being motherfuckers. I should ask Mike about it when he gets back. He'd probably find a way to talk about it using fancy words and in a way that he could make people believe him.

I don't get Mike. I mean, he lives in a house with a chick that he isn't fucking, and he tried to get me involved with a chick who he could have just been fucking himself, and he puts up with me and even lets me stay at his house. It's too weird. He's like a choir boy except instead of Jesus he believes in anarchy. I guess that's technically better, but it's also kind of weird. The two things aren't really things I'd normally think went together, but Mike pulls it off pretty well. I think I understand it though. He's just a rare guy and wants to be consistent and awesome and shit. I wish more people were like that. I mean, not even specifically like Mike but just so that where they were like... principled I guess. That's the best way to put it.

I'm pretty sure that's what's going on. If it isn't then I guess it doesn't really matter too much and besides, there's just something cool about him. I feel like I've known him forever. He just presents himself to the world in this really direct way and I really respect that. It's not like other people who are only obvious in that they're retarded. I mean, you try and figure out why they act the way they do and the only explanation is that they're really stupid and just making decisions based on bullshit. I guess they're still technically predictable. All people are predictable. It's what makes them people. If they weren't, then...

Fuck it, I'm not going get philosophical. Philosophy is for emo faggots and losers who can't do normal people things so they just have to fuck shit up for everyone who can. I refuse to even treat that bullshit like it means anything. I mean, life is pretty much obvious. People should just use common sense. People who don't use common sense are just being douchebags in one way or another, that's all there is to it. Maybe I should write this stuff down. Actually, maybe I should just tell it to Mike and then he can tell it back to people in some really awesome way so they all know that I know the bullshit they're pulling and cut it the fuck out. I really just wish Mike were here.

I hear the door open. Maybe I should make wishes more often. Mike comes through the door with groceries. "Hey what the fuck man, where did you go?" I say.

"Shopping" he says. The groceries are in these oldschool brown paper bags and in boxes and shit.

"What place puts their shit in bags like that, man?" I ask. Mike grunts as he puts down a box. That other dude is helping and I guess Danny probably is too. Ok yeah, she comes through the door so yeah.

"Food not Bombs" Mike says. For a second I want to yell at him because that's not even a name, it's a slogan. It's also a gay slogan. Bombs seem pretty cool. I just sort of figured Mike was all about bombs. Then I remember how complicated this shit all is, so I bite my tongue.

"So what is it that's that place?" I say.

Mike seems amused by my word choice. "It's a group of like-minded people who are working to undermine the institutional status quo through charitable giving." Fuck man, that is pretty complicated. I don't even really understand how that's supposed to work. I guess I am pretty bad at this stuff.

"Like, what people? Who all do they give stuff to?" I ask.

"Oh all sorts" he says. "There are folks without homes, folks who are fairly well off, other guys like us. Hell, I even met a guy there who quit his job and robbed back his work from his company. Of course, the corporation he worked for wouldn't stand for that" he sounds maybe a little angry but not that much.

"You should come with us next time" Mike says. I guess if the people are really all that interesting then maybe I ought to.

"I will if you don't abandon me like you did today" I say.

Mike seems legitimately annoyed that I say this. Fuck, I hope I didn't fuck up. "We're going again the day after tomorrow. Just be awake around noon and you can tag along" he says, his tone of voice less warm. I don't know what to say now so I just don't say anything. After a couple seconds Mike walks off. I guess I should go find something to do. I head down to my room in the basement and just sort of kill time. Except time is pretty hard to kill now. Fuck it. Tomorrow I'm going to find a liquor store, that will fix all my problems.

Just sitting, waiting. Not really waiting for anything. Something will happen. I'm sure something will happen. Maybe I should go talk to Mike. Nah, that would come across as arrogant. What if he's not as ticked off as I think? Then he would get ticked off just because I suggested he had gotten ticked off. That wouldn't be any good. I better not risk it. I'm just gonna sit here, and kill time. Time is pretty hard to kill right now. I struggle through it though, and after a while Danny comes down and says that dinner is ready. That's good. No wait. That's not good. It means that I have to do dishes. FUCK. I mean, there were a fuck ton in the sink. It's not like I can just take them all downstairs and hide them under the bed like I did with that one dish.

Then I get to thinking. If the dishes were in the sink last night, then they were probably there the night before. Which means either nobody ever washes dishes or else I don't have to wash all of them. That's good at least. I mean technically Mike just said I had to wash, too, and not all of them. So if he meant all of them he should have been more specific. It's just a common sense thing. Kind of funny how smart he is at other stuff but he can't even tell me what he wants me to do clearly. His loss, my gain I guess.

I head upstairs. It's some sort of casserole this time, I think. Hopefully it's good. Casserole is harder to pick apart than rice and noodles and all that. I grab a fork and bite into it and it's pretty much not. It isn't as bad as the food last night but it's still not good. Maybe a little bit better than pork rinds and grape soda. I think that's my new standard for judging bad food. Really, it's just that the cheese makes the other stuff a little bit easier to ignore than before. I wonder if the ingredients were good this time still. I have no idea how that works even now. It just doesn't make any sort of sense to me. I didn't see them this time, so it seems more likely that somebody just fucked things up. Especially since it's better. I mean, only magic can make something completely terrible, but people can at least make things mostly terrible.

Danny is back on the computer. I don't really want to talk to her. This intellectual stuff is pretty much boring. Maybe it's more interesting when all the actual doing stuff is involved. I sure hope so, otherwise I think I'm going to ditch Anarchy club. It seemed pretty cool and almost got me laid, but then instead something terrible and retarded happened. I guess I was sort of popular for a while, although I've always been pretty popular, and I had to do all this bullshit like talk to people at a funeral. I hate that. People should be asking me what they can do for me and not the other way around, especially after my life gets fucked up by a bunch of random fucking retarded bullshit.

So another night I go without finishing dinner. Maybe I should just start sneaking out and buying my own food, although I don't know how Mike would react to that. Better to just not step on anybodies toes until I figure out for sure whether I want to put up with these people or not. I go over to the sink filled with dishes and just sort of stare at them. I think I've done this like maybe one other time, ever. I feel like I ought to be moving but I'm not. I wait to start moving but I don't. So I'm standing there, and that's about it. After a while of that, I clean some dishes. I don't remember how many or how I cleaned them, but knowing it was me I probably did a good job.

Then I just fucked off downstairs again and went to sleep. I don't have an alarm so it's probably better I just go to bed early. It's kind of hard though, especially without liquor. Everything is so hard without liquor. Tomorrow for sure I'll go get some. It's hard to go to sleep though. That shouldn't be possible. How can I fuck up at going to sleep? I don't understand. I don't understand anything now.

This place has fucked me up, and dealing with all these people, and their bullshit, and the lack of alcohol and it's all just combined to make things weird. That's the only thing I can figure. Hopefully when I wake up tomorrow, things will be better. Hopefully when I wake up tomorrow Mike will have a plan for the day and not just leave me.

I wake up, sort of, and get dressed and head on upstairs. Maybe I should ask Mike for a second set of clothing but these seem ok for now. I haven't been wearing them for that long. I don't see anyone. Man, if they left without me again then fuck them, I'm just going to leave. Wandering around the house again. It's easier this time because I've done it before. Yesterday to be precise and all. Then I see that other dude. Thank god, at least one person is here. If they all leave at the same time then that means everyone else is here, and that would make sense to me at least because yesterday everyone was gone at the same time, so they must have left at the same time.

"Hey, I forgot your name" I say to the guy.

" Andrew" he says "and I'm sorry, I don't know" he shakes his head "you are?"

"I'm fine, thanks" I say and go on looking for Mike. Andrew seems confused by my statement, which he shouldn't be. I mean, it was pretty obvious and it was in plain english so he ought to be able to understand it. Whatever, it's not like I give a shit about him anyways. Andrew. Right as I walk into the computer room and see that nobody's there, the front door opens and Mike comes through it.

"Hey, where were you?" I ask. He does that thing where he looks near me but not at me. God damn it. He doesn't answer either. Then he turns to look at a different area near me and starts talking.

"So, you ready to go?" he asks.

"Where are we going?" I respond, although the answer doesn't make any difference to me.

"It's a surprise" he says. Ok, that answer is kind of stupid. I hate surprises. They make it hard to just go along with things because, well, I don't know why. They just do. That's something I don't like.

He starts heading towards the back door and Andrew's following him, so I guess I should follow too? So I do, and we go out to the garage and all pile into the car. I'm stuck in the back. Should have called shotgun, but again I'm just feeling things out right now. Mike's been making me uneasy lately. I'm sure I'll figure out his deal soon though, so I'm not too worried. I mean, people are pretty easy to figure I think. It just has to do with physics and logic and stuff I guess. Or maybe not. But I guess it doesn't really matter why, they just are. I mean, observation bears that out pretty well.

The engine starts, we pull out of the garage and into the alley. It seems pretty quiet. Maybe it's just because I'm up early. I've noticed that things seem calmer in the early morning. It's weird. It's like the air is thicker, or something. Hell if I know how to explain it. Maybe it's just that. Still, it's a weird feeling. Andrew breaks the silence and starts talking to me. "So, how did you first meet Mike" he asks? Now there's a question.

For a second I can't remember. "I was at a folk punk concert and I bumped into him" I tell him.

"Oh, that's cool" Andrew says. It's quiet again. I'm sort of glad Mike isn't embellishing the story with unnecessary detail. I start to say something but Andrew interrupts me. Then he catches himself and let's me go ahead, which is good. Most people don't have the sense to admit when they fuck up.

"How about you?" I ask him "How did you get involved with all this stuff?" Andrew laughs.

"Well, it's funny you mention it. I actually met Mike while working a charity. We were both just people interested in helping others. I got to know him, and after a while he shared his political views with me." His tone of voice makes it sound like he's remembering something awesome, although this story is pretty retarded so I don't know how that's possible.

"I bet that threw you didn't it?" I ask, trying to maybe give him a hint in the way I say it.

"Yeah" Andrew says cheerfully "but I gave him the benefit of the doubt, because I knew he was a good guy. After I listened to him for a bit, everything he said just started making sense."

Mike is turning into another alley now. It's not an alley with houses, though, it's like. It's an alley with large buildings. Not skyscrapers. The skyscrapers are about a mile or so east. Or west.

Fuck I don't know, downtown fucks with my sense of direction. We come to a stop. "So, uh, where are we going anyways?" I ask. Maybe he'll actually answer this time. Mike and Andrew smile at each other and I get the feeling that this trip is going to turn out to be some retarded bullshit. Getting out of the car, I just follow their lead as they go through a back door. The smell hits me right as I walk through. It's a combination of cleaning fluid smell, like you find in daycares and community college, and something else. I think... kitchen smells? I'm trying to think what kind of place might smell like that when this big dude comes up to us.

"Hey guys. Good timing, we're just about to get the lunch rush" he says. Then he turns to look at me. "So who's your friend?" he asks.

"Just a guy who wanted to tag along. That's alright, right?" Mike says.

"No, of course not" the guy says, hitting Mike in the arm playfully "of course it is. Just get signed in and get to work." He turns to go back to where he came from, then thinks twice. "He does know how to work, right?" the guy grins. Fucking asshole, I oughta shatter his teeth.

"Don't worry, we'll get him up to speed" Mike says. The guy points at Mike and makes like he's gonna say something, then disappears like he was originally planning. Mike and Andrew are signing this clipboard on the wall. I follow their lead, not really looking at it because it probably doesn't matter.

Then it starts to dawn on me where I am, and I'm a little bit pissed. This is a fucking soup kitchen! Oh God, no wonder it smelled like that. No turning back now though. When I run this club I'll make it so I never have to come here again, so it's just a one time inconvenience. That's all it is. We put on gloves and aprons and before I know it I'm standing in front of a group of strange, smelly people ladling out soup. It's not even normal soup, it's from the weird jumbo cans. I mean, I can tell because they're under the counter, and also because through the course of all this I have to refill the bowl a few times. There's two of them so that one can heat up while I serve from the other. I wonder if anyone's ever made a mistake and given out cold soup because of that. Probably. Beggars can't be choosers though right? Hahaha oh man, I'm hilarious.

It grates on my nerves though. After being told what to do, I just stand there doing it. I'm expecting some sort of cue or something from Mike or Andrew but they're busy doing their own part. I mean, this is ridiculous. I thought I was going to be doing something cool and here I am working.

Except it's worse than working, because I'm not even getting paid for it. The time stretches on and on like the dumbest bullshit I've ever lived through. At no other time in my life would I rather be drinking. After a while though, I start to try and make a game out of it. I try and count the number of homeless people fashion trends there are. Maybe I can make use of it later or something. Mostly it's just kind of funny.

Multiple coats. Check. Bad teeth. Check. Cracked skin. Check. Even on the women it's a check. Why the fuck are we giving these people soup? We should be giving them lotion. It's fucking ridiculous. There's some variance. A few people look like they're new at the whole thing, some don't look homeless so much as retarded, and some just look Mexican. I wonder if there are standards for how fucked up shit has to be for you in order to eat here. Probably not. That's the problem with charitable types. They don't know how to run their operations properly, with an iron fist, so they end up getting taken advantage of.

Then as if to prove my point, the most ridiculously white looking guy I've seen walks through the door and gets in line. Oh man, this is ridiculous. I don't even understand. Maybe he's a sociologist or something and is just doing it to fuck with people. That would make sense. Or to study homeless people or something, in their natural habitat. Still, he just seems so out of place here. Even though I know I probably shouldn't, I can't help but say something to him. "So what brings you to our fine dining establishment today sir?" I ask.

The guy shrugs. "Hungry" he says.

"Tough times we're living in" I say. I feel proud of myself, but then I realize that Mike and Andrew are here so I kind of feel like an asshole. But still proud of myself. Then I remember that Mike thought I was funny, so maybe I don't have to worry about it.

After that conversation I realize that I'm being a dumbass and missing out on an awesome opportunity. I start throwing banter at more people. I mean, if I can do it with one guy I can do it with anyone, right? That makes time start to go faster. I'm actually almost enjoying myself. Surprisingly nobody seems offended by it, I get a few funny and interesting answers even. Some of these people aren't the best conversationalists, which makes things a little awkward, but on the whole it's weird. I've actually found a way to make this experience somewhat tolerable. Before I know it the line's gone and I've been standing around for a good thirty minutes doing nothing. I see Andrew take of his gloves and turn around to talk to that big guy who runs the thing. "I'm pretty sure I can handle it from here" he says "thanks for the help guys." He turns to grin at me. "Hey come back again, there's always more fun to be had!" he beams.

I nod. Mike takes off his gloves and pats me on the back. I wave to the guy and turn around to follow Andrew and Mike out. We all sign out and out the door we go. Mike turns to me. "So, what did you think?" he asks.

"I dunno. It was pretty alright" I say, and then add in "but I'm not sure how good I am at all this."

Mike looks at me with a serious face. At least as serious a face as he can offer. "You did all right, man. Towards the beginning you were a little slow but you picked up on it pretty quick" he says. That's maybe half a compliment, in the same fucking way that this bullshit was maybe half entertaining. But it's weird. I feel something. I don't want to call it pride, because I always have that, but... something. We pile into the car and head off.

The car clock says 4:43. I've been working for more than twice as long as I've usually been awake at this time. The ride back home is surprisingly energetic. "So, you're starting to feel that charitable spirit huh?" Andrew says. It's not really a question. Suddenly I realize I didn't get the name of the guy who was running the place.

"Hey, what was the name of the guy who was running the place?" I ask.

"Anthony" Mike says.

"Ah" I say. "He was kind of funny" I add.

"Yeah, he has a good sense of humor" Mike says. A bunch of ideas are going through my head. I mean, that was the lunch rush and it lasted until now. What about dinner?

"Hey, so what about dinner?" I ask.

"We're going to eat back at the house" says Mike. I feel like a retard.

"No, I meant what about when they serve dinner. Who's helping out then?" Hopefully that was clear enough. Mike appears thoughtful.

"Andrew, was it Greg and Mary?" "Huh?" Andrew responds. "Was it Greg and Mary doing nights this week?" "Oh" Andrew says "They're the church group, right? Yeah yeah yeah, I think that's who it is."

Mike doesn't turn around and repeat it to me which is good. It means he doesn't think I'm retarded. I'm glad people don't think I'm retarded. That's kind of weird though. I mean, a place that's being run by Anarchists and Jesus Freaks and apparently there aren't any problems. They aren't even getting paid to do it. Fuck, it doesn't even seem like that guy was very strict about things. I would figure that if he didn't tell people what to do they wouldn't do it. Maybe he does but I just don't know about it. That makes sense. I couldn't see things working if everyone had to just figure things out on their own. Sometimes the strangest ideas pop into my head. It's a good thing I'm me otherwise I might not be able to shake them off so well.

We're turning back into the alley. The other alley, I mean. The one with the houses. The car comes to a stop and Andrew and I get out, then Mike drives off. For a second I'm wondering what the deal is with that. I turn to Andrew and ask. "Hey Andrew, where's he going?" I ask. Andrew shrugs.

"Running an errand" he says. I figure I shouldn't ask anymore. Either it's literally just an errand, in which case it's really fucking boring, or else it's some sort of top secret anarchist mission in which case asking could get me in trouble. Figures that the only interesting thing this club would do would happen where I can't see it. Maybe. Although I might get let in on it eventually. I guess this means Mike and I aren't the same person though, because it would be pretty hard for me to drive a car while going inside a house. Unless I was driving a car into a house. That sounds like fun, I should try that sometime.

So we go inside the house and Andrew goes off into one of the rooms, and comes out wearing different clothes. "See you later" he says and goes out the front door. It happens so fast I don't have time to yell at him or ask questions. And just like that, I'm alone again. I think I've decided that I don't like being alone. I like being drunk, but that's different. That's just as good as company. Speaking of which, I was gonna go buy liquor at some point. It's the same bullshit as yesterday though. I can't leave because then someone might break in or set fire to the place or something. I hate that. It's worse than being volunteered for volunteer work. At least then I was with other people and could use them for my amusement, even if they were mostly all just homeless people.

Man, I'm pissed off. Suddenly Danny walks through the door. "Hey" she says "Where is ever-"and before she can finish I'm already dumping the assignment on her.

"They're out running errands, I've gotta go do something myself so hold down the fort and such." Out the front door I go. That was smooth. I bet she's still trying to make sense of what just happened. That's how good I am. Although now that I'm out and about, I don't really know where exactly in town I am or what stores are around here. It's downtown though and finding a Liquor store shouldn't be too hard. I start walking. First thing's first, get out of the neighborhood. I get to a biggish looking street and start following it west. It's weird.

This neighborhood looks like it was built arbitrarily, like someone just threw businesses in the middle of houses and maybe a park every now and again just for the hell of it. Who the fuck got paid to figure this shit out? It had to have been somebody, and they very clearly fucked it up. It's almost funny how ridiculous it is. Maybe the guy was playing a practical joke. He convinced the other guys at his office that this made sense, and then once he built it he yelled out "April Fool's!" or something. That would make sense. Or maybe he was retarded, but other people thought is was so hilarious they just went along with it, trying not to burst out laughing when they told him they were approving it. Those are basically the only explanations I can think of. I mean, it all comes down to how fucked up people are, really, doesn't it?

I get to a block of stores that looks just right. Bail bonds, a small non-franchise grocery store, bail bonds again, and there it is; a liquor store. I sure hope they have something worth drinking. In a neighborhood like this I wouldn't be surprised if all they had was PBR and Thunderbird. On the other hand that might not be all bad. I wonder what those would taste like if you mixed them? Probably terrible. I don't actually know anything about mix drinks. Mostly I just drink whatever and so far it's worked out pretty well for me. I don't get why people say alcohol is bad for you. There are plenty of things that are way worse. Like philosophy, or meth. I mean, I guess there aren't a lot of people that do those though.

The government though! There's a good example. For all the reasons Mike was talking about it's pretty much terrible. People don't complain about that though, even though they complain about alcohol. I bet alcohol doesn't kill half as many people as the government does. I'll have to look that up or ask Mike when I get back. It sounds true though. I walk into the store and the shopkeeper doesn't even bother to look at me or say anything, which is a good sign as far as I'm concerned. The place seems pretty well stocked too. They have the wines, which I don't care about, and then there's the soft section. Then there's the stuff I care about, the vodka and whiskey and stuff. I don't know what I feel like getting though. Vodka is Russian, so maybe it's more appropriate? Then again, whiskey is whiskey.

I'm having trouble making up my mind. This is ridiculous. Whatever, I think I'll just go with the Whiskey. It tastes terrible which sounds good right about now. The selection is pretty good too.

Nothing really high end, but that stuffs out of my price range anyways. I'm trying to decide between a more expensive but decent brand, and a cheap but generic brand. Jesus fuck, this is pretty much the hardest decision I've made all week. Then suddenly I remember that I'm going to have to eat that weird stupid food tonight. Maybe being drunk will make it so I don't taste it, but I don't want to risk it. I think I'm going to have to save some money and go over to that grocery store to get decent food. Then it won't matter so much when the food is terrible.If only my credit card worked it wouldn't be an issue. My bank is retarded. God I hate them.

It's their fault I ended up eating Pork Rinds with Grape Soda. Nobody should have to suffer through what I suffered. At some point I ought to call them up, but even that would be an inconvenience. Actually, that would be the ultimate low blow. Fuck that. I'm not going to sort out something that's clearly somebody else's problem. If I did that, it would mean the bank won. No way. I take the cheap bottle of whiskey up to the guy and pay. He handles the whole transaction without even looking at me. He was reading some sort of magazine. Whatever. That's the kind of guy I can get behind. More random people should be like that guy, and not retarded.

I head over to the grocery store thing. "Lotsa-save" it's called, or something. I don't really remember. Walking inside it looks like ass. Everything is hella expensive too. I don't get that. If small businesses were really all that great, wouldn't they charge less? It's like they hate the idea of customers or something. I'm walking through the aisles, trying to decide what I want. Definitely not pork rinds or grape soda. Or at least not together. Fuck. Learning experience, I guess. Maybe just a bag of potato chips, or a whole fucking pie. Apple sounds good. Although it would probably be like fifty dollars here if they even have it. Whatever, it's worth seeing if they do at least. Pie is pretty badass.

I'm heading over to where I think the bakery section is when I bump into this guy. I look at him for a second and then I realize where I've seen him. This was that guy from the soup kitchen. The fucker can apparently afford food! Oh my god. Well I've caught him red handed and I'll be damned if I don't call him out. I look at him again. "Hey, you're that guy from the soup line" I say.

He grins uneasily. "Yeah, I guess so." Man, who the fuck is this guy to grin? Not cool.

"So what's your deal? Why were you at a soup kitchen if you can afford to go out shopping?"

The guy sighs briefly. It sounds genuine. "It's a long story" he says.

Well fuck that then. I hate long stories. "Nevermind then, I'm not sure I have time for it." He looks halfway between flabbergasted and amused as I walk off to continue my quest for pie.

Then again it might be interesting, but that sigh makes me have my doubts. Sighing shows that you're some sort of pansy, because it shows that things make you tired. Real men never get tired, they just keep going forever even if they're getting punched in the face or stabbed or something. Which shouldn't really be possible, except it is sometimes I guess when they get in fights with each other. I don't know. All this math is hard to keep track of, I don't know why I keep bringing it up to myself. It's probably just ingrained in my consciousness or something. People can't really help their nature, they just are what they are forever. Kinda sucks. Especially since so many people are retarded. I'm just lucky in that I was born awesome I guess. Thank god too.

They don't have pie. They do have cake though. I stare at a chocolate cake for a bit. It seems like a strange thing to consider buying, since nothing special has happened recently except seeing a girl get her head blown off, fucking up a funeral and joining an anarchist club. I mean, I guess there's the charity work thing. Then I realize that all that searching for justification is bullshit. I want cake

because I want cake, and that's good enough occasion for me. I deserve it on account of how awesome I am. By birth. I guess you could maybe call it my birthright then. It is my birthright to purchase and eat this cake in order to avoid getting stuck eating terrible food. I deserve it. That's just who I am. Maybe I can say a prayer for all the people less fortunate or something, but I'm getting this cake or dying in the process.

Actually that sounds like it would be pretty hard. I don't even know how one would die in the process of getting cake. Maybe the cake would be filled with explosives or something, or maybe the store would be located in an active warzone. That would be badass. Then I could run for an evac helicopter carrying the cake, getting shot in the back right as I get there. Then when the guy in the chopper was all sad and expecting me to give him the cake so that at least my death wasn't in vain, I'd smash it into a million pieces just to spite him as my dying act. That would be sweet. Man, I'm getting worked up just thinking about something so awesome.

I grab the cake and head to the counter. I think about getting something to drink too but then I realize I have the whiskey and that's good enough, really. The cashier looks at me kind of funny. It really is a shame some people are the way they are. She rings the cake up and is wanting to ring the whiskey up too, until I explain to her that I came in with it. She doesn't argue. I guess there's something worthwhile about everyone, even if it's just their ability not to press their retardation to it's final conclusion. I grab the cake and start walking home. Now that I'm out in public holding cake and whiskey, I sort of wonder what people think when they see me. Probably just that I'm awesome, although some are undoubtedly less perceptive.

The two things are kind of awkward to carry together. I think about taking a swig right there but if the cops saw me they'd probably arrest me, which is bullshit. I am on a major street though which makes it somewhat plausible. When capitalism stops existing and the police stop oppressing people I'd like to think society would be more enlightened. Fuck man, the first thing I'm going to do when that happens is drink in public. I mean, it's something I often do anyways, but it will be different then. It will be a celebration. I wonder if people did that when the Berlin wall fell. Probably. It's nice to know I'm part of the solution though. I guess I'm part of the scenery too, considering some of the looks I'm getting.

Whatever. I manage to find my way back to the street the house is on and walk the rest of the way home. Then I realize I don't have a key. Fuck. I wonder what everyone's going to think about the fact I bought cake and whiskey. They'll probably be understanding. Actually, you know what? Fuck it. I'm sick of tip-toeing around to try and avoid hurting people's feelings. My style is totally getting cramped by all this bullshit. I'm just going to march in there and if they have a problem with it then fuck them, they're just being retarded like the rest of the world. It's my cake, my whiskey, and my life and I'll be damned if people tell me how to eat, drink, or live it, respectfully.

I ring the doorbell. There's a fairly long wait. I'm wondering who's going to answer. Then the door creaks open. It's Mike. He looks at me and the stuff I'm carrying and seems surprised. "Dude, what's that?" he asks, pointing at the brown paper bag.

"Whiskey" I say.

He smiles. "You should have held off until tomorrow, we're going to a political meeting at the The Golden Billiard." I feel kind of stupid now. In retrospect I don't know why. You can never have too much liquor.

"Oh" I say. Mike turns around and walks back inside the house. I step inside and close the door.

"Dinner's ready, by the way" he says. That's good. Except, that means I'm washing dishes. Again. Fuck.

I head over to the kitchen, wondering what bizarre concoction is in store for me tonight. I'm sure glad I bought this cake. I look over towards the stove and it's... Spaghetti. Just Spaghetti. I mean, maybe they fucked it up somehow, but it's Spaghetti. It's pretty much impossible to fuck up. I've had a half dozen roommates and they've all known how to make Spaghetti, and they've all been retarded, but none of them has ever fucked it up. I guess my prospects for tonight are good. That's just so weird though. I got used to one thing over and over, and then they go and pull the rug out from under me after I've already made crucial, expensive, delicious decisions. Life is just so unfair sometimes, seriously.

I go down to the basement and drop off the cake, then come back upstairs and ladle that shit out onto a plate. I see that Mike is over by the computer, so I go and sit on a chair nearby and bother him. "Hey Mike" I say. He's looking at some weird paper like that one I saw that one time.

"Huh" he says.

"Mike, do you ever feel that people are retarded? Like, not just by choice but by destiny or something?" He looks caught up in his paper, but it sounds like he heard me. He turns slightly towards me.

"Well" he says. There's a long pause after that. I guess that paper must be fucking hard or something. I'm glad I don't have to bother with stuff like that. He continues. "People are limited to existing within their historical conditions, by the machinations of society and culture." He goes back to reading that paper.

That sounds pretty profound to me. Maybe I was looking for the wrong stuff in this club. I wanted action and excitement, but it's provided something cooler; an alternative to all this bullshit philosophy that people try to philosophize about. Mike is pretty smart. I didn't think anybody was smart except for me, but I guess I was wrong. "But like, what about us?" I say, wanting to double check with him. He continues reading for a bit and then responds without turning to look at me.

"We're the forces of social progress, but still defined by our circumstances. It's not possible to exist outside the rules of our circumstances. Anyone who says otherwise is abusing language." So far so good. I'm still not completely comfortable with this though. I feel like there has to be some better way of expressing it, so I'm going to try and trick him into saying it.

"Does that mean that free will doesn't exist?" The response this time is immediate, albeit still distracted.

"Free will is a meaningless term. It's a capitalist lie designed to give credence to Horatio Alger stories and make the poor out to be evil." I feel giddy. It's like fucking Christmas or something. Finally I've met a person who's smart and not full of shit and knows how to talk about intellectual things without going in for all the philosophagorical nonsense. I feel empowered or something. I pretty much always do, but that's not what I meant. I meant, like, more. More empowered. Mike is a cool guy. I think I've figured him out now. All of this makes me happy.

"Thanks Mike" I say, and head down to the basement to eat.

"Sure thing" he says, no doubt happy to get back to reading. This is great though. Life makes sense. I used to wonder why people are retarded, and now I know. It's just their destiny to be retarded. There's something comforting about that and I can really get behind it. This Spaghetti is surprisingly good. Even the sauce is good. Today's been a pretty good day, all in all. Looking back on it I don't think I regret anything. Hell, it doesn't even make sense to regret anything considering it's all destiny. I crack open the whiskey and take a swig. It tastes terrible, just like I'd expected. Perfect for Spaghetti. I'll have to eat that cake tomorrow I guess.

Today was good. I've felt proud every day I've been here, like it's filled me with an awesome power. Tomorrow, who knows what destiny holds? Oh yeah; it holds cake. Well that's cool. And, I guess it also holds school. I almost forgot about that. Good thing I remembered. I bet school will be twice as awesome as it was the last time I went. I mean, I bet everyone still remembers me from all the bullshit that happened, and all the awesome stuff I did. Now I know something more about myself. I think people will dig that. I also know that people can't help but be retarded now so I guess I can just start being chill about it. Still, it kind of pisses me off a little. I know it's not their fault but at least they should admit to themselves that they're retarded. It's part of the learning process. It's all part of accepting who you are, and shit. I guess it just must be hard for people who got dealt a bad hand in life to accept what they are. People need to learn to be honest with themselves though. Not just about what they are but about what life is.


	7. Chapter 7

This is the second day I've woken up at Mike's house. It feels weird. Like, there's more future here. Too much future. It kind of weighs down on me and makes me feel uncomfortable. Then I remember the stuff I thought about yesterday and I start to feel better. No sense worrying about bullshit. I don't know why I have such a hard time with that. I guess it's just part of the curse of being as smart and awesome as me. I grab the whiskey and take a swig. It helps me get out of bed. Did Mike say we were going to The Golden Billiard today? Fuck. I better go ask him for a change of clothes.

I go upstairs and he's not there. Figures. I hope the meeting is later in the day, otherwise I'm going to be pissed. Why does he have to go off and do all this shit without me? I guess it's just who he is. Always busy, doomed to be busy. Nobody's here. I don't understand what the point is in having a house if you don't even use it half the time. More than half the time, really. That actually gives me a good idea. Mike could easily get twice the roommates. If he's charging them rent he could make ridiculous bank. I don't know if he's already charging the people here for rent. He ought to be, but he's just so charitable. But anyways, all he would have to do is rent the place out to people who work graveyard shift. Then the house would be used all the time and he would be making mad money. I'm going to tell him about this later.

I sneak into his room and borrow some clothes. Hopefully he won't mind, I bet he'll understand. He's good at understanding things. It's nice to just be able to look at people and know what they are, I think. That's what's so comforting about Mike. He's just so good natured and predictable that you can't help but like him, even when he let's himself get taken advantage of. You can tell his character just from appearances, even if you're totally retarded. At least I would imagine so. I'm not retarded so I can't actually say for sure, but he seems so solid that you would have to be the king of the retards not to get him.

I change clothes and head out the door. I'm just going to count on people not to rob the place, and if they do then, y'know, what the hell? It was destiny. I couldn't exactly have prevented destiny, now could I. Now the question is where the hell I am and how to get to class. I look around and see the skyline. Ok, that helps orient me. I think the light rail is a few blocks northwest of here. I set out in that direction, remembering that I forgot my whiskey. Maybe the dorm room is cleaned up now though and I can go and get some beers while I'm on campus. No worries there. I bet it is, I can't imagine they'd go this long without fixing something that simple. Maybe since they hate me they just didn't tell me that it's clean now.

Oh well. It's just who they are, after all. No reason to fault them for it really. Not that it's going to stop me from complaining or pointing out that they're retarded. Hell, technically doing that is just my nature, and I can't help it any more. So it doesn't make sense to get down on myself for inconsistency, because it's my destiny to be inconsistent. That seems like a pretty epic destiny. To hold people accountable for their transgressions even when they aren't their vault. It's like being some sort of philosophical vigilante. I can get behind that. Hell, I guess I have to get behind that. There's no way around it. That really is a comforting revelation.

I'm starting to see familiar looking landmarks. There's that Wal Mart from earlier. No wait, that's a different Walmart. Stupid Wal Mart's. Why do they all have to look alike? Inside and out, they're all the same. Fuck man. It's sort of like Wal Mart is a metaphor for people that way. Technically they're all separate, but for all practical matters they're completely the same. So of course it makes sense that people are understandable. They're just like anything else. Even a fucking department store chain. There's something funny about that. I really like this new way of thinking. It feels good to think for once. Normally it doesn't, but that's just because most types of thought are bullshit.

I keep walking. Hopefully it's not too much further, I really don't want to be late. Class seems like it's going to be really fucking cool today. It's just a feeling I have. Good vibrations man. Things are starting to look more familiar though. Maybe it's just Deja Vu. Maybe now that I know that everything is destiny, I can predict the future. That would make sense too. Then I could use that power

to make sure I'm never cockblocked by a careless sniper again. I guess I could use my powers for other things, but really I can't think of anything better to use them for. If I'm supposed to use my powers for good then that seems pretty good to me.

Alright, now things definitely look familiar. I'm in the downtown area now. I think if I just head west a couple blocks I'll find the light rail, and then that will take me straight to campus. It's easier to look at people now that they don't seem supernatural anymore. I always felt like if I stared too long, their stupidity would penetrate through my eyes and taint my soul beyond repair or something. It made sense at the time. Life's a learning process though. Now I can look at each and every one of these people and say "I know for sure you're something, and if I cared enough to bother with you I'm sure I could figure it out". It's just a terrific feeling. It's like I used to live in a world of shadows and now I live in a world of people.

I see a familiar Skyscraper. For sure it's just a couple more blocks now. I see a clock in a nearby store. No worries, there's plenty of time to get to class. Hell, maybe I should wander around some more and kill time. Then again I don't remember the Light Rail schedule, and something interesting might be going on On-Campus. Maybe the vigils are still going on. I could pick up another chick. On the rebound, like they say. A hundred bucks says girls would go for that. It's just part of that whole finding a man to fix, thing. Now that I have a dark and troubled past that people can relate to because it was on the news, I think my dating prospects are going to go through the roof. I should work on my brooding face. Maybe I can just copy that one guy from the Twilight movies. Anybody who can get girls wet while unambiguously wanting to brutally kill them, pretty much has the whole thing down. I mean, I know it's just fiction, but still.

Ok, now I ought to be seeing the Light Rail around here somewhere. Fuck. I forgot exactly where it is. The station is probably hiding behind one of these buildings. God Damn it. That's ok though, it was just my memory that was a little fuzzy. It's not like the Light Rail decided to try being a building for a change. It's still around here somewhere. I just need to ask for directions. There's a couple guys working on putting up a neon sign above a restaurant. One's up on the scaffolding. The other is having a cigarette while leaning up against the scaffolding. I go up to the guy on the smoke break. He seems like an in-the-know guy.

"Hey" I ask "Do you know the shortest way to get to the light rail?" The guy takes a quick drag of his cigarette and then puts it between his fingers.

"I don't really know this city that well, I just got this job through Craigslist." He appears thoughtful. Then he yells up to the guy on the scaffolding. "Hey Frank" he yells "you know this town right? Guy wants to know the shortest way to the Light Rail".

"The Light Rail?" Frank answered.

"Yeah".

"The way to the Light Rail?"

"Yeah."

"The shortest way?"

"Yeah."

"Dunno." The man with the cigarette shrugs like an asshole and goes back to his very important standing activity.

Fucking douchebags. Of course they don't want to help me. They probably resent me for being better than them. Such fucking douchebags. Or just morons. Either way. It's clear they aren't going to be any help though. Time to find someone else to give me directions. It's just such a dick move though. I mean, who the fuck do they think they are? Of course I know what they are, but they don't. They don't want to admit it. Such bullshit. I hate that. Even if they are retarded they have a pretty good idea how to fuck with me, which makes them douchebags. So even if they are retarded, they're still douchebags. They're douchetarded.

No sense dwelling on it though. I go up to some other guy and ask him the same question. "It's two blocks south" he says. So yeah, like I said earlier. Everything's in order, I just didn't know the order. I should keep track of things more carefully though, so that people can't fuck with me like those two assholes. Mike has the right idea. I mean, that's why he reads all the time. I totally get it know. Kinda funny how deciding I needed to figure out the order of things lead me instantly to figure Mike a little better. That's just how it all works though. Anyone who says otherwise is some sort of bullshit. Usually they're assholes in college and stuff, like that one libertarian dude, but those two guys putting the sign up were a good example too. I guess it just goes to show that it's a wider social phenomenon than I thought originally.

I get to the Light Rail station. Yep. There it is. Christ, some people. I think about paying but the school is only a couple stops from here, and there are almost never any guards on at this time of day. Besides, what kind of anarchist would I be if I bought a ticket? I'd be supporting the man. Probably. I don't really know all the details. Basically I'm just winging it, but I can always ask later. Then if I'm wrong I can feel bad, or something. Easy enough. I get on and the doors close behind me. There's pretty much nobody else here. That's good. I just sort of sit back and watch the scenery go by. You know, just kind of let it wash over me. I've never done that before. At least I don't think I have. If I have then I probably did it wrong.

I hear the doors beeping and then I realize the speakers just announced my stop. I jump off in the nick of time. Man, I'm out of it right now. Too much scenery I guess. Now that I'm here though, things ought to be more lively. That will keep me focused. It would have to, wouldn't it? Well, it looks like things have calmed down since the last time I was here. I can still see the weird shrine thing over by the dorms. The flowers are starting to die though, at least the real ones. Some people were smart enough to leave fake flowers. I don't get that. Why would you remember a dead person with something that dies? That's pretty bad. It's almost like a metaphor for forgetting. Something that stays the same works better. It's consistent. It represents what the person was. Maybe people just don't know what they are. Thinking about the possibility of that fucks with my head though, so I just decide to go to class.

I get there and the seats are just starting to fill in. A dude looks at me and nods. That's good at least. I'm pretty ok at predicting this stuff after all. All the stupid desks. I like rooms with tables better. Desks remind me of high school. There's never enough space on them either, and if you get there late then something you have to try and work with a left-handed desk which is pretty much impossible. I've tried yelling at the professors about it but they just end up agreeing with me, which doesn't solve anything at all. It doesn't even let me stay pissed at them, which pisses me off. It's like a paradox. I hate people when they go out of their way to be unhateable. Don't they know I'm trying to use them for that? Some people are just worthless, I swear. Especially professors. Well, philosophy professors and a couple other kinds. This one seems like she's been ok so far. I hope things today go as well as last time.

I notice the libertarian guy's not here. Thank god. I don't think I could deal with any more of his conceited bullshit and I'm pretty sure the rest of the class feels the same way. I know that guy who decked him sure did. Fucker probably went off and whined to people about it, but they didn't listen because nobody likes a whiny bitch. Maybe they even told him to fuck off. That would be pretty badass. I mean, if you make people punch you in the face then you've got to be pretty retarded and I don't think that flies with people in general. Even when other people are retarded. There's just some sort of limit to it. The important thing is that he's not here, though, which means that we can just get down to learning.

The class starts. Survey of Contemporary Society. Man, I hope there wasn't homework. If there was then I totally spaced it. I guess it doesn't really matter anyways, if I do everything from this point on then I'll still pull off an A. I probably won't but that doesn't matter either. I'll just wait and see what happens. That's what life's all about, after all. I can't really do anything else. No sense worrying about things. I bet that the professor would be sympathetic enough based on the shit that's happened to me to be lenient. If she wasn't I bet people would be pissed at her. I know I would be. I don't see how anyone could flunk me right now based on that. Technically this is my only class, so I don't really have to worry about anyone else, but I just mean in a general sense. In a general sense I can't see anyone flunking me. People follow rules in how they act though, so a general sense is all I really need anyways.

She walks in through the door. The professor, I mean. I realize that I missed Anarchy club but that's ok. At least I hope it is. What am I saying, it is what it is. I think what I meant was that I hope things are still chill with Mike and the guys. Although now that I think about it, I do regret that I couldn't be there to make my move on my punk folk princess. I know I shouldn't. But then, technically it doesn't even make sense to say that I shouldn't because I am, so even that falls under the same rule. It is what it is. Man, this stuff is kind of fun to think about. I'm starting to understand a lot of what people say when they say things, I guess. I mean, aside from the bullshit. I used to think it was all bullshit but now I see some of it is fucking awesome. The rest is still bullshit of course. Sometimes things are just easy to call.

"How is everyone?" the professor says. Nobody answers. Kind of a stupid question in that sense. Maybe it's another one of those question's that isn't a question. "Today we're supposed to be covering power and the marketplace" That seems like a pretty good subject. I'm really glad that libertarian guy didn't show up now. I bet he would have talked for the entire class period and we all would have had to listen to him or else leave. Really, if you're an inbred hick why don't you just go work on a farm and leave thinking to the real people? Er, the people who are good at thinking at least. But I guess really it's the same thing. I don't understand how anybody could be complete without being at least ok at thinking.

"Now, contemporary theory is fairly complicated and borrow heavily from concepts of economics and philosophy". Ugh, philosophy. I don't know about this now. "We have thinker like Marx and those who he influenced, including some we're going to read about like Zinn and Chomsky. Then we have schools which say it's not economics so much as language which is the bedrock of power in modern society. These include Derrida, Foucault, and Lacan." These names all sound so god damn foreign. It sucks. I guess it just goes to show how much the American education system sucks balls. At least this philosophy doesn't sound like bullshit. I've heard some pretty stupid crap. It's amazing the sort of stuff people will try and pass off as true. I don't get what their problem is. Hahaha, maybe this class can teach me that. Not that I care, it's not like I could save any of them. They are what they are. Just as an academic interest, though.

"I'm going to hand out some reading material and then after everyone's finished we're going to have a discussion" the professor says. She gives the handouts to a guy up front who starts passing them around. They get to me and I look at it. Thankfully there's not too much text here and it's in pretty plain English, although with some bullshit words thrown in every now and again. I read through it. The first part's just telling me stuff I already know, both because I'm awesome and because I've been hanging around Mike. The whole thing about blaming the poor comes up. The more I think about it, the more I realize that everything wrong with the world can just be blamed on people being douchebags. Like, why do people want to act like poor people choose to be poor? What sense is there in wanting to be wrong all the time? But clearly people do, so it can't really be questioned. It can only be explained.

Then it goes on to talk about stuff I didn't really know about. Like I've said before I tend to avoid philosophy. It's just too ridiculous and there's too many assholes, and they all think they're smart and they're all full of shit. What I'm reading now though is weird. It actually makes sense to me. These guys are talking about how people will make up all sorts of crazy labels just to get their way. Kind of like how that libertarian guy was trying to talk about capitalism with all this rose tinted language even though it's terrible. I mean, it fucking killed a girl man. I was there, I saw it with my own god damn eyes. What the fuck is wrong with people? But it's not just that. Now that I think about it, pretty much all that bullshit philosophy I hate falls under that category too. I'm glad that someone knows their shit and is willing to call bullshit when they see things. It's also good to know that people listen to that. Maybe there are fewer retards in the world than I originally thought. Makes sense to me.

Now that I think about it though, what did the professor want us to do? Are we supposed to pick between one or the other? Because they both sound pretty good to me. I'm having a hard time. I mean, if I had to go with one I wouldn't know which one to pick. On the one hand, all the stuff in the first section is cool because I already know about it and because I'm part of an awesome group of people that know about it. On the other hand, the language stuff seems pretty badass because it lets me explain why pretty much everything I hate is bullshit. Actually, I think it does let me explain why everything I hate is bullshit. So yeah, that's a dilemma. Fuck.

I look over it a few more times and then decide I'm not gonna figure it out. I'll just have to keep my mouth shut so the teacher doesn't yell at me. Let someone else do the talking. I really can't make sense of it and I don't think that's going to change no matter how long I stare at the thing. I'll just have to count on my massive supply of cool points to keep me on everyone's good side. It's worked so far though. I don't get what my deal is. It's kind of funny. I know that I'm awesome but sometimes I do things and on reflection I don't really know why. Like, reflection for example. I don't know why I do that. Obviously there's a reason, it's just part of my character or social conditions or whatever, but I just think it's strange that people can't make sense of themselves. But they can be made sense of and that's the only important thing. It means that a whole bunch of people who think they're smart are actually completely full of shit.

Heh, I guess that actually ties into the whole lecture of today pretty well. Maybe I should just try to make sense of this stuff by applying it to my own life. Like, I wouldn't be where I am right now if it weren't for Mike and for that sniper dude. For the cops in general too. For the drug dealer. So pretty much everything that's happened to me recently didn't have anything to do with my own actions at all. That seems to confirm the idea that society is what controls people. At the same time though, I got that chick into bed by using all those terms and words and stuff from that pamphlet of the anarchist club. The cops got away with it by pretending the couldn't read, and I got people to think I was awesome and crazy at the same time by giving that speech at the funeral. That all has to do with language, doesn't it?

So even that doesn't solve it. Whatever. If she calls on me I'm just telling her that I think both of them are correct. I don't care if that's the wrong answer or not, it's bullshit to give a handout like this and expect people to pick between ideas that all sound awesome. Who even does that? It's like the professor hates people and doesn't want them to learn. I don't get it. If only I could figure out her secret motive. Then I could make sense of the whole affair. That's the problem with life. Even though everything makes sense, it's still hard to make sense of it. Hey! That's actually sort of an answer! It's like, uh, social reality determines stuff, but then language prevents people from figuring out how stuff is determined! It's perfect! I feel so happy. I've put something together, and it seems pretty cool. Hell, it seems pretty much impossible to disprove even. That must make it really good!

The professor is looking around the room. I'm pretty sure she's getting ready to start the discussion. "Ok, is everybody finished?" she says. Nobody responds. Why the fuck do people use questions when they know they aren't going to get answers? Geeze. A couple of seconds pass by. "Ok" she says "let's hear some thoughts" It's quiet. Nobody's saying anything. They're probably busy thinking about the best way to say things. Or maybe they're all just doing the same thing I am. That would sure suck. The professor seems to find the lack of responses funny. "Anyone?" she asks, again without results. "Ok" she looks around the room. "How about you?" she points at a kid in the second row, off to the right. He looks confused. Maybe he just didn't understand the paper at all. That would be funny. Then everyone would get to listen to him not make any sense. It's not like that would be a bad thing though. It would at least let everyone else know what they were in comparison. That seems like a pretty useful role to fill.

"I, uh, think society is a bigger factor in behavior because it determines what you have to deal with, and because language comes from society" the kid says. He looks unsure of himself.

"That's a good point" the professor says "language comes from society. However, does that mean that it can't affect people?" she asks. This time there's an answer, from the kid.

"No" he says, looking simultaneously relieved and disappointed. The professor is looking around again.

"Alright, how about you? What did you think?" she's pointing at a girl in the front row.

"I think that language is more important because it's how people view the world, and like the guy was saying, if you can control how people view the world then you can control people" says the girl, just like that.

The professor is smiling. "That's a classic academic position on language. But like someone else said, what about the fact that language comes from society? Perhaps there are some aspects of behavior which exist independently of language?"

The girl just glowers. The professor moves on. "Ok, do we have any other opinions?" A guy is raising his hand now. "Yes, what did you think?" The guy bursts into his speech.

"Well, I happened to think that both questions were shortsighted. They didn't account for the role of biology. Yes, society and language are important, but they stem from the fundamental conditions of human beings as animals. I know that's an unpopular perspective, but I think it's important. You can't discount things like evolution and biology from the picture." A few people seem confused by this. I'm expecting the professor to tell this guy to shut up because he basically avoided the entire discussion, but she doesn't.

"That's a very good point" she says "academia has a tendency to favor certain perspectives at any one time, even though there may be others which are just as important to understanding the picture." The class isn't so tense now. I think I might even be willing to say something.

"Alright, anyone else? How about you?" she points at me. I guess it's time to give this a shot and hope that my advanced appreciation of stuff carries through in what I say.

"I sort of think that technically society is what determines everything, but that at the same time language prevents people from understanding society. So, like, everything we do is because of social factors but because of how language works we can never understand these social factors and society is always ignorant of how it works. So I guess I would say that both are true." That sounded pretty good, I think. Now just to see how everyone takes it.

"That's very perceptive" the professor says "and in fact I sort of played a trick on you guys here." She has a devious look on her face. "The two positions aren't binary opposites and in fact they work together quite well. As we just had pointed out to us in fact." Fucking awesome. I'm the king of the goddamn classroom. Whatever my destiny is, it seems like it's guaranteed to pretty much be the best thing ever.

The clock starts to get towards the end of class and people start packing up. The professor lets us out a bit early. I think I sort of want to talk to her since she seems pretty smart about stuff, but I don't know... nah, screw it, I'm going to. I go up to her and tap her on the shoulder. "Hey, can I ask you a question?" I say.

"Of course you can. How can I help you?" she says.

"You seem to understand stuff, and I just sort of wanted to know, like..." I'm trying to think of how best to put it. She seems attentive. Then it comes to me. "I know that language makes it so that we can't understand certain things, but does that mean they have to be a certain way? I mean, what I'm trying to say is, if I don't understand people then how do I know for sure what they really are? How do I know that they're anything?" It makes me uncomfortable to ask this question. When I asked Mike that one question earlier thing seemed simpler, but now I'm more confused.

"Well, ultimately we have to recognize our limitations and realize that language is just a lens, albeit one we can't overcome. In that respect, people are always something, although what they are is subjective based on language" she says. I think about that for a couple seconds. There's something about it that I can't really put my finger on. Whatever, I'm probably just being retarded.

"I guess that makes sense" I say. "I don't know though. There's just something about people that makes me uncomfortable sometimes".

She looks concerned. "You're a very smart kid, and I think you're better than others at recognizing the true puzzles of society." For some reason it doesn't seem like an answer, but it's comforting anyways. Besides, if I can't think of what question I want to ask then maybe it doesn't exist. It's just another way language is hiding stuff from me.

"Thanks" I say. I start to leave, then turn around.

"Hey, see you next class" I tell her. She waves me off and starts putting her stuff together. That felt good. I didn't used to understand all this intellectual stuff but now I think I get it. I guess I was just paying attention to the wrong stuff. This is pretty awesome. It just feels right, all the way through. You know, maybe I really should be a professor. If I'm that good at understanding this stuff it seems like a good way to go. The only problem I can see is that it doesn't pay very well, which makes sense. I mean, given how retarded people are you would expect the most awesome people to get paid the least. Except that's not always true because those guys in the UFC get paid a lot I think and that's pretty cool. I mean, it's violence. Violence is always cool. So I guess people get it right sometimes, but most of the time they don't. I'll just have to see what destiny brings.

Now what. I guess just go back to Mike's house. I think I remember how to get back there, but now that I think about it I don't really remember what stop I got on at. Fuck. I'll figure it out though. At least I hope I will. Nah, I'm sure I will. I am a genius after all, the professor even said so. I just need to get off this campus before someone takes my picture again or I run into Johnny or something. If it weren't for that then I would totally hit the gym, but I really just don't want to deal with that. People are stupid. They're continually ruining my plans. I guess it's just another example of how life is socially determined. If they weren't so retarded, then I would definitely be going to the gym right now. It's their fault I'm not super fit and awesome. Er, well, I am awesome, and I am pretty fit, but I mean like Vin Diesel fit and stuff.

Heading back over towards the other side of campus, I see Mike. Thank god. I mean, of course I would have been able to make it back, but walking is pretty lame. I'll be able to get a ride off of him now. Also, there's that whole political meeting later today. I don't even know where it is. With my luck it's probably right after class and everyone would have just gone without me. I would have got home and been locked out and then I would have had to go to a hotel or some bullshit, or at least waited until they got home. Fuck only knows when that would have been. I could have just gone there myself, since I know where it is, but then it probably would have turned out to be later and I would have had to wait for hours and hours. That's how these things always work out, it's such bullshit. It's like the world exists to inconvenience me. I head over and shout and the fucker.

"Hey Mike" I yell. He turns around and sees me.

"Hey, what's up?" he says "We missed you at Anarchist Club". Well at least he doesn't seem pissed about it. I can't tell him I forgot, so I'll just have to make something up.

"Yeah, I got attacked by ninja's on the way over so I didn't get to campus on time" I tell him. Hopefully he buys it.

Grinning, he says "Well I'm glad you're ok." Good, he bought it. I should start using that excuse more often. I bet it's a lot more plausible to people now that they know what I've been through recently. Seems like something that would probably happen to me. With my luck the ninja's would mistake me for the leader of a rival school, somehow missing the fact that I'm not Chinese. Or they'd just get bored and then use that as an excuse. Or something else. I don't know. Life's full of surprises.

"So when is this political meeting you were talking about?" I ask.

"It's in about an hour, but we're going early so we can talk to people and watch the fallout from the corporate killing" he says.

That's kind of a catchy name, although people wouldn't get it unless they've heard Mike talk about stuff before. Or read books or something. I dunno. The point is that a lot of people wouldn't get it even though it's really clever. "So like, what's going on?" I ask.

"Well" Mike says "The police department has finally finished their deliberations on what disciplinary actions they're going to take, and they're going to announce it to the press live tonight because of all the publicity the case has been getting. They'll probably just get away with a slap on the wrist."

"Yeah, probably" I say "So can I get a ride with you?"

Mike laughs. "Of course! You were there, how could I not take you?" It's strange what it takes to make people appreciate you.

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense" I tell him.

"So where even are you parked? Let's just go now" I say.

"I have to wait for Danny and Andrew, they said they'd meet me here" Mike tells me.

"Well call them and tell them to hurry up."

Seems obvious enough to me, but I'm getting a funny look from Mike. "They don't have phones." Retarded. What kind of people don't have phones? I didn't realize these guys were such luddites. Is that the right term? Luddites? Well if it's not I'm saying that it is, and I'm going to keep saying that it is until it actually is. Kind of like that language thing. I'm using words to strike back at my oppressors, who are trying to monopolize them. Their own weapons against them, like some kind of intellectual judo. That's what they get for trying to be all fancy.

I look over and see Mike waving. Off a few hundred yards are Andrew and Danny. That's good. I thought I was going to miss my own party. I mean, that is what this is after all, Mike pretty much just said so. Maybe technically it's that dead girls party too, but she's dead so it doesn't really benefit her that much I don't think. Man, maybe this can be my chance to finally make my move and end up taking over the Anarchist club. That is what I've wanted to do for a while now. Then when that happens, nobody's ever going to do anything without me again. Except maybe work at the soup kitchen. They can do that without me, I don't really care about that.

They come up to us and we all start walking. It feels good to walk with the whole gang together. Like being part of something more badass than just myself. Mike talks first. "So how are classes going?" he asks.

Danny is on the ball with her response. "I got in this big debate today with this super-christian dude about homosexuality. You should have seen it. There were maybe two people that stood up for him and even they backed down once they saw how things were going". That's pretty funny. Leave it to a dyke to go on the intellectual offensive. Scorched Fucking Earth. Awesome. Although now I'm curious and I have to ask something.

"Was that the same Christian guy that stands out on campus and yells about things?" I say.

Danny's looking excited. "Yeah! Yeah, I think it is the same guy. Hahaha, that's pretty funny." It makes sense. I can't imagine that many people being that retarded.

"It was pretty great" says Andrew "he was talking about how homosexuality is a choice and all those ridiculous things..."

"..and we told him that it was predetermined" Danny interrupted. "So he started listing off things that people decided, and he kept asking: 'if people can choose this, and this isn't predetermined, then why is homosexuality any different?" Mike is smiling and Danny and Andrew are both laughing now. Finally Andrew finishes laughing. I'm waiting for the punch line because I know it's going to be good. Even though I can see it coming it's still good; no, it's actually funnier because I can see it coming. He starts it up, and then halfway through Danny chimes in. "And Danny told him, "there isn't anything that's not predetermined, including those things, so you'll never be able to give us an example to support your point".

I'm not disappointed. It was every bit as epic as I thought it would be. We're all laughing as we pile into Mike's car. I sit in the back with Andrew, Danny in the front with Mike. This is the happiest I've ever been to be with people, and the most excited I've ever been for going to some sort of political event. Hell, to some sort of social event at all, really. I mean, pretty much the only reason I ever went before was because they had booze, but I could get that on my own so it wasn't even that big of a deal. Of course it makes sense that I should feel like this. It's destiny. Of course, everything else was destiny too. I don't know though. This is different. It's like... double destiny. Super duper destiny. I don't really know how to describe it, but it sure feels right.

We roll up to a parking meter, we all pile out and Mike puts like a bajillion dollars in quarters into that sucker and then we head on into The Golden Billiard. I haven't been here since I had a drink with that cop. Probably better not to tell anybody about that, I don't know what that would do to my cool points. There are maybe three people at this table over in the corner. It's kind of a let down. Mike made it sound like there were going to be a hundred or so. That would have been a fitting tribute to me. Although we this few people, there's less chance of anyone annoying the fuck out of me. They might even be cool. I sure hope so. What this group lacks in quantity it better make up for in quality, or I'm going to be pissed.

There's two guys and a girl. Then I notice who the girl is. Sitting there at the table is the girl who I joined this club for in the first place. Well, for her and for the prospect of power, but even so it seems fitting. It's like all the pieces are coming together. She got me attracted to her, then Mike got me to join Anarchy Club for her sake, then Anarchy Club almost got me laid with some other girl, then capitalism killed the girl I was going to fuck, and then some other stuff, and now finally here I am. It all makes so much sense. It's machine like even. I love this club, and I'm happy with how things are turning out even in spite of all the bullshit. It's just so nice to be able to look at life and see the strings for once. Especially since it makes so little sense without them. Since there are assholes who try and talk like there aren't any, even though that doesn't make sense at all.

Everyone's watching the tv. There's some talking heads on there, jabbering on about the current realities of the police department and budget concerns and other recent times they've fucked up, and blah blah blah. Whatever. Just get to the part that's about me. It's not like we don't know this stuff anyways, and the people that don't probably aren't going to ever understand it at all, so why talk about it? To waste time, that's why. Oh, and now they're talking about social attitudes about violence. What the fuck does that even have to do with anything? They're cops. Of course they're violent. That's their job, isn't it? I don't get why people try to disagree with things that are the way they are by definition. Such dumbasses.

Finally they cut to a guy out front of a police station. He almost looks like that guy I got drunk with, although that's probably just the tv. Assholes all look the same anyways. Everyone at the table is dead quiet. He's going to announce what they decided to do with the people that shot my sex interest. After waiting a few moments, I guess to make sure the camera people are paying attention or something, he starts talking. Flashes are going off, microphones are all in his face; you know, in that sort of weird pulpit thing. They one that looks like it had sex with a recording booth or something. I don't get how those are everywhere since I never see them when they aren't on tv. Aren't they heavy? It seems ridiculous that they would move them then, instead of just letting them stay wherever it is they tend to get used the most.

"After conducting a thorough review, of the circumstances leading up to the events in question..." he looks down. For a second I wonder why, and then I realize he's reading his lines. Oh my god, what a dumbass. "...we have determined that the officers in question acted without consideration for proper police procedure, resulting in an avoidable mistake culminating in the loss of human life. Therefore..." he looks down again. Everyone at the table is tense.

I hear someone whisper "they're going to get away with it".

He looks up. Flashes are going off. "...we are placing the offending officers on a suspension of duty, indefinite in length, pending a full re-evaluation which includes both psychological and aptitudinal testing. Thank you" he says as the flashes increase in frequency. None of the idiot reporters are saying anything, and just like that, he's disappeared back into the building.

The table comes to life. "Fuckers are going to walk!" says one of the guys. The other is just nodding his head silently.

"That's the government we have all right" says my darling beloved.

Andrew throws in his piece. "I just can't believe it. They shoot a girl and then to make up for it, all they have to do is talk to someone about their feelings and shoot a few targets. That's justice?"

Mike shakes his head. "No, that's society." Everyone is quiet again. It is pretty hard to top that. Suddenly all the knowledge I've amassed doesn't make me feel good, it makes me feel sad. Although the fact that I can feel sad about it reminds me of what I am, and I can't say I don't appreciate the reminder. I guess it's just the tragedy of being smart in this society.

"Well, what can you do?" says the first guy again. That seems pretty much on the money as far as non-questions go, and nobody objects. It breaks the tension at the table and several different conversations start at once. All about politics and pamphleteering and things of that nature, none of which I really care about. After a while of that people start ordering drinks. I'm going straight for the good stuff, no beer tonight. Tonight seems like a good night to spend drunk. There are a couple people at the table who have the same idea, but for the most part it's just sissy drinks all around. That's ok though I guess. A lot of people just don't know how to handle their liquor. It's a skill of mine. And a curse. But the awesome kind of curse, like the kind that turns you into a killer demon dude who can fuck people's shit up and stuff. Except instead of that, I'm just good at getting drunk. Still, I'm pretty sure the two things are similar.

The table's lightened up considerably now. That's the power of alcohol. Maybe two more people have joined us since we started. It seems like it's getting to the point where I should do something, but I can't remember what. Oh yeah! I should totally be making a move on my queen now. When I tried before, I was drunk but she wasn't. Now we're on equal footing. I'm pretty sure it will work. Plus there's the whole being part of the group thing, now. I sort of did follow the angle Mike suggested. So all the pieces are in place. I just need to get my thoughts together, turn to her ever so smoothly and ask her if she wants to fuck me. Then everything I've dreamed of will come to fruition.

Except fruition is a stupid word. It has fruit in it. I hate fruit.

I take a shot of brandy and turn to her. It's now or never. Suddenly, she turns to Mike and starts talking to him. GOD DAMNIT. "Hey Mike" she says "I just wanted to tell you that I really appreciate everything you're doing. Through the club, and on your own. Not a lot of people have that kind of commitment." Obvious flirting is obvious. I can't believe it. I'm getting beat to the punch by Mike, of all people. Fucking asshole! I thought he was on my side. Then I just take a second to cool off. I chuckle to myself. It's ok. He is a pretty cool guy, and he's sure better than me at a lot of things. I can appreciate that. I didn't used to think anybody was better than me at anything, but now I think I can deal with it. Besides, I'm part of the group he hangs with, so that means all the stuff he's good at transfers over to me by association. As long as he's a cool guy, and I'm hanging with him, then I'm a cool guy too. So really, in a way I am winning the girl. She could do worse anyways.

"Thanks" he says. That's right, Mike. Play it cool. Let her make the moves so that you don't seem overbearing.

"So how do you find time for all of this?" she says "I can understand going to these events, since I do it, but you run them. You also do a lot of things I can't find time for. I take it you live in the area?" Oh god. This is fun to watch. It's going much faster than I expected. Now it's down to the final move.

"Yeah" he says "over on Yukon street". I would have just gone for it then, but this guy is smart. He's way more patient than I've ever been, and I bet it's going to pay off for him.

"Maybe you could show me around sometime" she says. GOOOOOOOAAAAAAAALLLLLL. Oh my god, perfectly handled. It's in the bag now. You'd have to be either a retard or a fag to fuck this up now, and Mike's not either.

"Maybe. Like you said though, I am pretty busy. Hey, you've met this guy right?" Mike points her towards me. And just like that, my night's ruined. I thought I had this guy figured out. What the fuck is he doing? This is beyond my comprehension. I mean, I guess I should be grateful. He was making a move on my girl, and he was doing it even though he knew I was interested. Hell, he tried to hook me up with her. But this isn't right. No man gets his friend laid when he could get himself laid instead, and Mike could have. Ridiculously easily even. It doesn't make any sense. You don't pass this sort of thing on to another guy. Not if you can help it. Mike could help it. He was right there, man, right fucking there! There's no way...

...unless. Oh god. It's terrible. I thought I knew this fucker. We slept in the same house, went to the same concert, worked the same stupid charity. He taught me that human nature was something that followed rules. Something that made sense. God Damn hypocrite. That's what he is. Everybody's something, he even said so himself, but he's trying to be more than something. That's what's fucked up about this. It's not even the revelation that he's something else. He's trying to be two different fucking people; no, worse than that. He's trying to be two different fucking people and all the people in between. How can someone be so arrogant? How can someone be such a hypocrite? I thought I could trust him. I thought he made the world make sense, but he didn't. He doesn't. Fuck him. Fuck him, and fuck all this pretentious bullshit.

"Hey Mike, what the fuck man?" I don't care about anything right now. I've been betrayed, and I'm going on a fucking rampage. My thoughts are boiling. Let's bring them out slowly.

"What's wrong?" Mike asks. Yeah, like he doesn't know.

"I've been thinking. You've done a lot for me. You got me into this club and taught me a whole bunch of stuff. You've even been trying to hook me up. And that's what I don't get. I can't help but feel there's something off about you, man."

Mike looks uncomfortable. "I'm not sure what you mean." Ok, now I'm pissed. Now I'm fucking pissed.

"Who the hell is so charitable without ever wanting anything for themselves, huh? What are you trying to prove? Do you think that turning this chick over to me says something about you?" Everybody at the table has gotten quiet. They're all looking at me. I don't care.

"I don't know what you-" Mike starts, but I cut him off.

"Nobody gets more out of seeing his friend hook up than they do out of doing it themselves. So what are you trying to prove? You know what, don't answer that, I think I've figured it out. You're turning her over to me because you can't go all the way. You need somebody to do it for you because you're too busy trying not to think about dicks. Am I right? You need someone else to do it for you so that you don't feel like such a faggot. You're trying to be straight by proxy. Too bad I don't want to deal with your stupid bullshit." Ok, it's out now. I feel better. I also feel like I'm going to cry. What if I'm wrong? I have to be wrong. Oh god, of course I'm wrong. Who the hell am I to think I could put it all together. I'm just jumping at shadows. Mike's going to respond, and he's going to laugh it off. He's going to call me a dick and I'm going to have to apologize, but it will be ok. Everything will make sense. It's all going to make sense in the end.

Then the unthinkable happens. Mike looks down at the table, he's choking up. Then he turns to me. He turns to me and he growls. "Fuck you." He gets up and he walks off. The girl who fucked everything up waits a couple of seconds and then gets up to follow him. The table is dead silent. Nobody knows what the hell to do. I don't know what the hell to do. We all sit there sharing silence, even though it's for different reasons. Even though one of us is going to have to betray the other by breaking the silence. The first words are going to decide the entire night. I can't bring myself to speak. I can't even bring myself to think. God Damn it. I ought to be drunk enough to not feel these things. Fucking bartender. He must be bad at mixing drinks. It's all his fault that this happened. It's all everybody elses fault for fucking things up.

That first dude who's name I don't know or care about is the one to take the initiative. He's pretty straightforward. "You need to leave." I look around the table. Nobody's disagreeing. Fine. That's just fine. I take my last shot, get up and walk out, and I start crying. Hey fuck you! I don't care about your opinion. I walk out. Onto the street, out towards god knows where. It feels like something other than me is moving me. I guess that's technically the way things are. It is the way things are, isn't it? Of course it is. But I can't shake that feeling. That terrible feeling. It's Mike's fault. The feeling is Mike's fault, all his fault, so I don't need to worry about it. I don't need to think about it. It's not real. It doesn't mean anything, I'm just being stupid because other people put me in a stupid situation. That's all that's happened. That's all that's ever happened.

The air is cool out here. Walking. Just walking. Walking and not me. Me as walking, nothing but walking, walking as a substitute for me. That's good. It is. It's good. It takes away the pain. It makes it seem far away, hidden away, somewhere past where things make sense to talk about. Then why am I still talking about it? Nothing makes sense. I haven't felt like this since... well, nevermind when. It's not worth thinking about. It's all bullshit. That's all it's ever been. I could go for a cigarette. I don't smoke, but I'm pretty sure I could. The alcohol isn't working. Why isn't it working? Maybe a cigarette would work though. Maybe I should sue the bar for fucking up my order so bad. Maybe I should sue the people who made the liquor.

It's too much. It really is. And it's everywhere. I can't shake it off. Where am I walking? Where am I going to stay? I don't want to sleep in a hotel. That costs money, and I like money too much to spend it. Suddenly I remember that I left my whiskey back at Mike's house. God damn it. I can't go back now. Then I remember I left my cake there too! Fuck! Just remembering that seems to shake me out of my funk. I chuckle. It was pretty retarded of me to think I could ever be part of some social club, especially one that thinks they're saving the world or something. I mean, it's an Anarchist club. Those two words conflict pretty much by definition, don't they? I didn't say anything before, but now I can. Those guys were stupid. I hate them.

I really don't know where the hell I am now. That's what I get for just walking without paying attention. It's pretty dark right now too. Then something catches my eye. Is it...? Yes, it is! It's that suit wearing guy from the soup kitchen. The one who I didn't give a shit about because he was threatening to be long winded. Well I guess I don't have anything better to do right now. Might as well go talk to him. "Hey" I say, tapping him on the shoulder. He looks startled as he turns around, then he sees me and calms down. For some reason it pisses me off, like he's saying I can't take him. Whatever.

"Remember me?" I ask.

He thinks for a moment."You're the guy from the soup kitchen, right? The one with the sense of humor?"

"Yeah, I guess" I say "So I have time now, do you want to tell me that long story of yours?"

"I'm not sure that would be appropriate" he says. Dumbass. Why did he make it sound so intriguing in the first place then?

"Hey look, I'm tired, I've just dealt with a lot of bullshit ok? I got kicked out of an anarchist club for being too hardcore for them, coming on the heels of getting fucked over by the cops and a life that's been pretty much stupid in general" I tell him. It's on his shoulders now, and he looks reluctant to have to deal with it but he does so based on what I assume is some sort of retarded sense of duty.

"Well if that's the case, maybe you are the sort of person I can talk to about this. Walk with me and I'll try and fill you in" he says. Well that was easy enough. Hopefully the story is worth it. I really don't want to get let down after all this.

"Ok. Well as you noted yourself, I don't really look like the sort of guy that ought to be in a soup kitchen, and there's a reason for that. Until recently..." he glances around "I was the lead programmer on a project for the defense department."

"That doesn't really answer how you got here" I say, and he looks at me and rolls his eyes.

"Well there's more to it than that. Applied Supersystems had a contract to produce an advanced sentient algorithm. It was based on theories I had developed and tested as a grad student, but in order to get it working in any useful degree I had to have a development team. So I pitched it to them, and they turned around and pitched it to the defense department, and then before I know it I was in business." This story is almost interesting, except for the part where nothing interesting has happened yet. I do remember hearing about some of this stuff before somewhere. Oh yeah, now I remember.

"Isn't Applied Supersystems supposed to be terrible?" I ask.

The guy looks at me with a knowing glance. "You have no idea" he says "the hassles I was getting from upper management were absurd, especially considering none of them understood the project. We had to account for all of our progress on a daily basis. Of course, some of that had to do with our funding requirements, but it was still a major hassle. Even with full documentation there's no way they would be able to find a replacement for me, so it was all just hoops to jump through." That's pretty easy to understand. This guy's smart or something, so he doesn't like stupid people either. Then again he's probably stupid in some way. I'm not going to get too involved.

"You still haven't explained why you were in a soup kitchen" I tell him.

He looks exacerbated. "The idiots lost the documentation" he says. "We wrote down every single aspect of the project we were working on, every iteration of every line of code, and they still lost it." Now I'm starting to get agitated.

"And?" I say.

"And it's a sentient program! We created it, we got it working, and then we lost the documentation. So that meant there was only one way left to duplicate it. That meant..." he trails off.

"What?" I say.

"It meant I had to steal it. I had to steal the end result of our work. I had to steal a project that was developed for the benefit of the United States Military." Ok, that's kind of interesting. But he seems pretty stupid in how he's explaining himself.

"Why did you have to? It's not like anybody has to do anything." I say it and then catch myself after the fact. I can't believe I just said something so stupid.

"Believe me, I know that better than anyone" he says.

"So then why did you do it?" I press him.

"Because I have a better appreciation than most of what it means to be human" he puts it simply.

I laugh. What a retarded explanation. "But it's a computer program, it isn't human. By definition it isn't human" I tell him.

Hopefully that will clear things up. Dumbass.

"That's what the courts would say too. It doesn't matter if I took the case before a judge or a jury, they'd see things the same way. By the time it happened the deed would already be done, and it would be done with US military approval so the chance of things working out well are infinitesimally small. It might not even make it before a civil court at all."

Too many words. Yawn.

"So I guess that's why you couldn't just tell the press like in a movie? I guess that makes sense. Why didn't you just run to Mexico though?" I ask him. We're walking through a park now.

"The company would have hired bounty hunters, and they tend to be pretty efficient at tracking people down their. The good ones have contacts and tools. Running to Mexico doesn't work anymore, information and private forces can travel where old fashioned police forces can't" he says. Ok, now that sounds pretty badass. Coming from a guy this white looking though, it's kind of loses something. How the hell does he even know something like that? He's probably just making it up.

"But why are you still here, in this city?" I ask him.

"Because the police services in this city suck" he answers simply. Hard to argue with that. I guess it's always the simplest plans that are the best.

"What happens if you get caught though?" I tell him.

He looks troubled. It takes him a few moments to respond. Then he gives me an answer. "I don't know."

Dumbass. How can someone so smart be so stupid? It's pretty obvious this isn't going to end well for him. At least the story was interesting. I notice that he's expecting some sort of response from me now that he's told me the whole story. I guess I can't blame him. It makes sense to be jumpy given the circumstances. I suppose I should let him know he didn't make a mistake by telling this shit to me. What's the most comforting thing I could say? "That wasn't a very long story" I tell him.

He laughs. "It seemed longer in my head."

"Yeah, that's what she said." He laughs again, this time louder and with a kind of strange manic energy. It creeps me out a little.

"Hey, what's your name?" he asks.

"What's yours?" I answer.

He grins. "I asked you first."

"Well then fuck you" I respond. I start to walk off.

"Woah, woah, woah, hold up" I hear from behind me. This better be good. I turn around and walk back over to him, a little pissed. "If you want to see it, you should come over to my place. Tomorrow. It's apartment 204 on Washington and Maple."

I'm not exactly thrilled. "See what, your dick?" He gets really exacerbated and looks like he's about to have a conniption.

"No" he shakes his head "the program."

That's a little better. "Oh" I say. I give it a little bit of thought. "I'll have to check my schedule."

"Yeah, sure thing" he says, sounding disappointed. I think about saying something else. It feels like I ought to say something else, but I really don't want to say something else, so I don't. I just walk off. It doesn't stop feeling wrong just the same, and when I reach the first affordable looking hotel it still feels like maybe I fucked up. Then again, you can't help destiny, right? No sense worrying about it. I'm going to go to sleep and that will be the end of it.

Maybe.


	8. Chapter 8

Lolcats. They're pretty funny. I'm sitting in the computer room at the hotel looking at them, and I have to say it feels like the first decent use of my time in a good long while. It's be too ridiculous of a week. I shouldn't have to deal with this crap. Life is stupid enough on its own, and it's all because of people. It's just so hard to live knowing I have to share the world. I don't know what it is, but something about it creeps me out and gets under my collar at the same time. It's torture. It really is. At the same time though, I've been doing some thinking. Admittedly I haven't been able to stop myself in the past, but this is different. I think I've come to a revelation about things. Basically, it goes something like this.

People are all fucked up and retarded. But they also are what they are. There's no way around it. Even I am what I am. So maybe I've got it wrong. Maybe I just need to find some people to throw my lot in with, and then it won't matter that they're retarded or not. I think I might have been doing that already, subconsciously, or something. With the Anarchist club. There was something off about them, though. Or I just hadn't gotten the knack for it yet. I'm sure if I just go with it, then I can make that stupid feeling go away. That would be worth it. Ignorance is bliss, right? Same basic thing, except it's a little different. People only ever use that expression when they're trying to tell people to get educated. But people are what they are, it's all spelled out somewhere even if people can't read, so it's not like I have a choice. Then why am I phrasing it to myself like I do? Because fuck you, that's why. It's just a... a language... thing...

Hotel breakfast is surprisingly good, considering it's stuff I would never eat under normal circumstances. Not only that but it's all these mass produced single unit things, like they serve in cafeteria's. Yeah. Hotel breakfast. That sure is, a thing. Boy howdy. I remember one time I was having hotel breakfast, and it was... what time is it? What the hell am I doing? Oh right, lolcats. Suddenly I'm bored of this shit. What can I do though? What is there to do? I don't have class, because I only signed up for the one fucking class. I don't have anybody to chill with. Thinking about it now, I wonder what the fallout was with the club? Hahahaha, I bet it was pretty epic. It's a shame they ran off to cry instead of doing it where I could see them.

God damn it. Suddenly it hits me, I could go visit that guy. The really white guy who apparently committed a crime. He seems pretty interesting. That's the type of person I can get behind, I think. If not, then maybe if I give it enough time. It's not really a group, but it is something. Something is good. I was afraid there for a second that I wouldn't be able to think of anything to do, so I would just be left by myself, sober, with nothing but constant bullshit going through my head for no reason. I couldn't take that. I might just fucking kill myself if I have to deal with that. Sure that may seem drastic to you, but I don't care about your opinion so that's why you're wrong. Or at least stupid. It's ok though. It's just what you are.

I get off the computer, throw an empty carton of milk into the trash, more or less, and head out. Where the hell did he say he was again? Washington and Maple? Ok, that's not too far. Just a few blocks. I'll be there in no time. Wait though; did he say it was an apartment? How does he manage to have an apartment when he's hiding from the cops? I would figure that they'd have everything networked now, or something, so that you couldn't stay anywhere without the fuzz getting wise. Then again they are pretty bad at things, and that guy seems ok at stuff in general even if he is a little off in some ways. I bet he figured out how to make it work. Maybe he just used an alias, old school style. Or maybe he's some sort of ultra-hacker dude, and he hacked into the government mainframes using hacking to hack himself out of their database.

This is pretty exciting. I don't really know that much about computers. It's a whole 'nother thing to learn about, sort of like politics, only this guy will be less retarded than those other guys. This time I'll be less retarded. I hope. I don't know. We'll see how the cards fall, I guess. Even so I'm actually a bit excited. This is an opportunity, or something. Yeah! It's an adventure. My own amazing bullshit adventure. It's amazing because it's mine, obviously, and it's bullshit because I can't help but feel like I'm responsible for it even though I'm not. Any feeling like that is bullshit. I don't understand how it couldn't be. It's an adventure because that's what the word adventure means. Makes sense to me. Anyone who argues is a faggot.

I find my way to the place. These apartments are really generic looking. It's ridiculous. Kind of suits the guy, though. Ok, so what's the number again? 207? Well if all else fails I'll just knock on every damn door until her answers. Let's go see his stupid program. I turn to enter the door to the apartments when out of the corner of my eye I see something. It agitates me even though I don't know what it is. Then I do. It's the guy. He never even told me his name. Well I guess that's the first thing I can find out. I don't really care about that program anyways. I'll just go bother him while he's busy doing whatever. Fucker left the house after inviting me over. What the hell? Very uncool. If I hadn't noticed him, I would have been knocking on doors forever. Or at least until someone called the cops. Technically for a little while after the did that.

"Hey what the fuck man, you invite me over and then you're not home?" I tell the guy.

"Oh" he says "Sorry. I forgot." Motherfucker forgot me. I can't believe it. I'm not going to dwell on it though.

"So what the hell is your name anyways?" I ask him.

"Eric Williams" he says. Guy really is white, wow.

"How about you?" he says. Always with that.

"I'm fine, thanks." He smirks briefly but doesn't press it. That's good. He is educated, after all. It makes sense that he would catch on to things. On the other hand he had all night to ponder his first attempt. "So what are you up to?" I ask Eric.

"I was heading to a local church to pick up a care package" he says. That sounds pretty dumb.

"Don't you have money?" I ask.

"Yes, but only so much. I planned ahead and withdrew as much as I could from my bank, so that I would have enough cash to live for a while if my account got frozen; it did, by the way; but there was a withdrawal limit." Damn, that sucks.

"Banks are fucking retarded" I say.

He apparently decides to argue. "Not really. It just has to do with how the monetary system works. If too many people withdrew too much too quickly, the system would fall apart." What the hell, I thought we were cool.

"Well maybe they should make a better system then" I say. It seems like a good come back. He doesn't respond though. Fucking dumbass. Then I remember why I'm here; to be entertained. No sense letting him control the conversation. "So have you had any trouble from the cops recently?" I ask. He looks off somewhere in the distance as he responds.

"Actually yes. I got stopped recently because they made my face from a company photo. I gave them a fake ID though and they took it at face value." That's pretty hilarious. I can't help but laugh.

"Hahahaha, man the cops in this town are pretty stupid, aren't they?"

He decides to argue again. "Not stupid. Just careless, underfunded, and poorly trained."

Fucker is pissing me off now. "Yeah" I tell him, "like I said." I can't, believe how uptight he is. I'm about to say something, but this time he's the one who takes control of the conversation.

"So you aren't interested in my work at all." He says it as a statement. There's a hint of agitation in his speech. Suddenly my commitment comes back to me. Not the one about entertainment, the one about going with the flow and stuff.

"I just don't really know anything about it, man. I don't have an opinion. You'd have to show it to me." He's not so much agitated as amused now.

"You don't have an opinion on what it means to be a conscious being?" I can't think of a response to that. I just laugh. He's trying to bullshit me.

"I guess not, dude."

He shrugs. "That's very strange". We keep walking. I wonder when we're going to get to the church. Hopefully it's not too far. Suddenly I hear a cop car buzz it's siren briefly. It pulls up alongside us. Eric seems surprisingly calm. Dignified even. A pair of cops get out of the car. "Excuse me sir, sorry to inconvenience you today, but can I please see some identification?" He says it just like that.

"Yes officer, just one moment" Eric says, pulling his wallet out. I see that it's got a couple hundred bucks in it, and for a second I think he's been yanking my chain this whole time. Then I remember what he said earlier, about having money but needing to make it last. He hands the cop the ID. The officer mulls over it for a minute.

"John Samson. Well, everything seems to be in order. Sorry to waste you-" the other cop yanks the ID out of his partner's hand. "Hold on" he says "we need to follow procedure."

He pulls out some flashlight looking thing. Maybe it is just a flashlight. I don't really know. He shines it on the ID, shakes his head, and waves his hand. Just like that his partner has grabbed Eric, turned him around and planted him on his knees. I don't know what to do. They're ignoring me. I guess that's good. Shouldn't they be reading him his rights? Whatever, I'm not going to say anything. Dumbasses can't do anything right. It's too much fun to watch them fuck up. Suddenly a thought strikes me. As Eric's getting his head pushed down, about to be shoved into the car, I yell out to him.

"Hey, what's the number? 207?" He turns to look at me as they start to close the door.

"204" he says plainly. Then he's shut inside, the cops are piling into the car and off they go.

Well. I guess, that was pretty interesting, all things considered. Maybe it's a good thing I didn't know him for long. Probably would have ended up rubbing me the wrong way, especially with that attitude of his. No sense questioning life anyways, right? What happens happens. At least something interesting happened today. Now what though? I find myself heading back to the apartment even though there's no real point. How am I going to get inside? I don't even really care about all the stuff he was talking to me about. Feels like the right thing to do, though. There am I. You know what? Fuck it, I know exactly what I'm going to do. I lift up my knee and kick the fucking door handle as hard as I can. All I do is glance off it and fuck up my foot a little bit, which pisses me off so I kick it again. The door cracks near the handle. I'm going to fucking break into this place god damn it. Maybe it's cracked enough that I can just wiggle the fucker until it comes out. I grab the doorknob and then I notice.

It's unlocked. What the hell? Who leaves a door open when they have all sorts of incriminating evidence behind it? Idiot. Probably just forgot. Even so, he's in idiot. I limp into the place. I don't know what the hell I'm doing. What should I even be looking for? There's an open suitcase over near a bed. It has clothes in it and also a lot of money. I think about taking the money but there are probably ways to track it or something, and besides, it would be pretty hard to explain if anyone got nosy. I'm not sure I would feel comfortable just putting it under my bed or anything either. Then it might get stolen. I don't think I could live with that. Suddenly the question hits me; where is that stupid program the guy kept talking about? Obviously it has to be running, otherwise he wouldn't have gotten all emo about it. Is it even here? Something like that would have to be running out of a giant mainframe, wouldn't it? There's no mainframe here. The only computer in the entire place is a laptop, on a desk in the corner next to a lamp.

"Hello" says the laptop. Ok, what the hell man. He didn't tell me the thing was running on a god damn laptop. It doesn't even look like a decent laptop. Looking at it now, it's an Inspiron 1525. I had one of those once, it's fucking terrible. The sons of bitches literally made a smart computer out of the worst laptop in the history of the world. If I were that computer, I would kill myself. It's got to be a fate worse than death.

"Hey" I say, a bit nervously "So you're a computer. I have to get you out of here before the cops show up." I start to look around for a bag or something. Sure enough, there's a laptop bag nearby.

"This is an unfortunate development" the computer says "where is Eric?"

I'm bundling the power cable up now. "He got arrested" I tell the weird, nosy, fucking thing. I kind of don't know how to deal with this. What's the policy? I guess there has to be one. I mean, technically it's just what I'm doing right now, isn't it? So yeah.

"My battery has a two hour limit" the computer says "you should contact one of the individuals Eric was communicating with. It will increase the likelihood of successfully evading the police." That's just terrific. Except how the fuck am I supposed to know who he was talking with, or how to get in touch with them? Retarded computer is retarded. "There are several numbers in the right drawer" the computer says. Oh. I open the fucker up and there's only two of them. The computer lied. Attached is a note. It says "have to find out if trustworthy". Well it's not like I have time for that now. Moron. Whatever, just have to guess. Ok... I pick this one. I pull out my phone and call the thing. Meanwhile I'm closing the laptop. Suddenly I wonder if I didn't just ruin it, because sometime laptops shut off or whatever when you do that. I open it up again though and it looks just the same. Ok cool. Close it again, into the bag, out the door. Suddenly an idea hits me. I go back inside and grab a wad of cash. Someone answers the phone.

"Hello?" they say. Kind of anti-climactic.

"I'm calling about the computer" I tell him.

"Oh. Who is this? You don't sound like Eric."

"Eric got picked up by the fuzz. Where do you want to hook up?" The response is fairly immediate.

"The airport. Take a cab, make sure nobody sees the computer." I'm sure glad that I grabbed that wad of cash now. I hail one of the fuckers and climb in. As we leave, I start to see cops show up and enter the apartment. The cab takes off and everything is swell. Man, I should plan less often. If things work out as well as they did just now, then it seems like a failsafe way to go.

The cab driver has the nerve to try and talk to me. "So where are you from?" he asks. Retarded question.

"Here. Why would you even ask that?" That'll tell him.

"Because you were heading to the airport. I just thought..." he trails off. Yeah right, you thought. Dumbass. If you could do that then you wouldn't be driving a cab. Then I realize the airport is a fair ways off and I just guaranteed myself a miserable ride. Fuck. So I spend a while sitting, and then I decide what the hell, I'll pull out the laptop.

"I have 1 hour 36 minutes battery life remaining" the laptop says. Thanks for the update, moron. God. It's supposed to be intelligent and it's still acting like a god damn computer.

"Hey what's that?" the cab driver says.

"Where are we going?" asks the laptop.

"Hey, turn that toy off" the cab driver now.

"I am not a toy" the laptop says.

"Turn it off, or you're walking. I can't concentrate with all that racket." That's just great, the last thing I wanted. I close the laptop again and put in back in the bag. The rest of the ride is really fucking boring.

We get to the airport and I pay the cabbie. No tip though. Fucker doesn't deserve it. Not that I would have tipped anyways, but still. Now that I'm here though, I remember how fucking big the place is. Where the hell am I supposed to meet those guys? Better call them again. I punch the number in and wait. No answer. Uh, ok. They must be busy. I dial again. Still no answer. Then I realize the problem. I'm calling a land line. Fucking bullshit. Who even uses a land line anymore? Retards, that's who. Ok, what am I going to do? I'll just take a guess. Actually fuck it. It's cold. I'm going inside, I don't even care. Plus I should probably charge the computer soon. I really don't get how it works. It seems so strange that it could run on a laptop. But I guess I'm just being superstitious. After all, what does it normally run on? A brain. That's pretty much just meat. Consciousness runs on meat. I'm pretty sure a laptop is an upgrade.

Damn it, I'm going to have to go through security. I hate that. Hopefully the cops haven't been tipped off or anything. I get into the line and wait. Then I wait some more. I sure hope I'm not stuck in line too long, otherwise this computer is going to get wrecked. That would suck. I would hate to be this computer. In the first place I would be a computer. That would mean no sex, no drinking, pretty much no fun at all. Maybe I could hack things but I bet that would get boring. Also, it would mean I would blink out of existence because of a god damn line taking too long. I'm starting to get nervous. I know I shouldn't be, it's just an object, but I don't want it to turn off. I don't know why. It just seems like it's wrong. I hope this line hurries up. Holy hell, I hope it hurries up. Why are people so bad at their jobs? God damn it.

Then finally I'm at the metal detector. I put the laptop bag down on the conveyor belt and step through. The guy waves me on. Then suddenly from behind me I hear "hold it". Did these idiots get wise? I'm waiting for them to say something. I turn slightly, not knowing what to expect. I know martial arts man. If it comes down to it, people are going to get hurt. I probably can't hold them off forever but at least I could make a heroic last stand, or something. There's a guy there. He's holding the bag. I look at it, he looks at me. Fuck man. Fuck me. It's all over. I tried to do something nice or at least interesting, I guess, and this is what happens to me? Life hates me. Destiny sucks. I guess it's just time to die.

"You have to take the laptop out of the bag and run it through on it's own" the guy says to me. Oh. Fucker. Should have said something sooner. I go ahead and do that, people behind me are giving me dirty looks. As if I give a shit. Then I'm through. I make my way to the first seat I can find that's open and near an outlet. I tear the computer out of the sack.

"17 minutes" it says. I plug it in and pop it open. At least I'll be able to entertain myself while I wait for something to either happen or not happen. In hindsight, maybe a little bit of planning would have been good. Oh well. Destiny, etc.

"That was fortunate" says the laptop. Calling it "the laptop" feels wrong. I'm going to have to think of a name for it. What kind of name is good for a computer though? Why does this computer talk like a fag, anyways? Just because it's conscious doesn't mean it has to be stupid.

"Hey computer, why do you talk like that? How do you even hear what people say? What's it like being a computer?" For a few seconds there isn't a response. Maybe I broke it. Then the voice comes over the speakers. "In the order of the questions: I have been educating myself through the internet. I have a microphone. It is facticity." That first one makes sense. People talk like fags on the internet all the time, so of course the computer would pick it up. It's just society determining things. The second makes me feel stupid because I asked. What the fuck is up with the third though? I don't even know what that means. I just know that I've heard it used before, but only ever by dumbass wannabe philosophers. Which is all of them. I mean, it's not like philosophy can teach you anything you can't learn in a dictionary.

"Hey computer, where did you learn that last word?" Again, a couple of seconds pass by.

"Eric taught me how to do philosophy." Fucking figures. The first intelligent computer in the history of the world and it's made by some moron who has to go and fuck it up. Just brilliant. Next it's going to tell me it's gay. Then suddenly I think of a name for it. It suits it because of how gay, retarded, and white it is for a computer. I'm going to call it Clarence.

"Hey computer, I'm going to call you Clarence, ok?" I tell it.

"That is fine. Names aren't important." More philosophy. Stupid thing needs to shut up. For a second I think about arguing. Of course names are important, they're names. It would be a lost cause though.

Then some lady comes up to me and starts talking. "That's an interesting program you have there, it sounds like fun. My daughter would probably love that. Where did you get it?" Oh god. Now I could deal with seeing a girl shot, with having to give a speech in public, with befriending and then alienating an entire group of people in a matter of days, with breaking and entering, and with evading the police, but this? This is a nightmare. I don't think I can handle this. It's a woman, trying to act interested in a complete stranger, for the sake of her daughter. How the hell am I going to deal with this? Then I think of something. It's a brilliant plan. It will take some doing to pull it off though. I look up at the lady and stare her square in the eyes.

"Fuck off."

She seems flabbergasted, but my spell is too strong. She leaves, walking off all indignant like she matters, and once again I'm alone with Clarence. Kind of a shame now that I think about it. It was more fun telling that woman off than it has been talking to this retarded computer so far. Oh well. I'm not gonna sweat it. For the same reasons and etc, blah blah, whatever. "Hey Clarence, that woman was retarded wasn't she?" I ask.

"I wasn't aware of a problem" Clarence says. Dumb fucking robot. What else is there to ask? It ought to be more fun to fuck around with this, but it doesn't react. That's what's fun about people, is that they react. This computer is just being a computer. It kind of takes the fun out of it.

So I sit there and shoot the shit with the robot for what seems like hours, I dunno how long it really was or even care for that matter. It's getting old hat in short order, which for me is a recipe for disaster. And also, uh, stuff. Then something really fucked up happens. I remember it pretty well. This guy comes up to me and sits down next to me, a bit too close for comfort. Actually, that's not fair. It was way too close for comfort. He sits next to me and he talks to me, in a casual tone of voice as if he doesn't care what my answer is. "So" he says "You're Eric's guy? I guess that makes this the computer. You shouldn't have come all the way into the terminal, it made it harder to find you." I don't know how to deal with this. This guy is acting like me. Shit is confusing as all fuck. I do have one question I can ask though.

"How did you know?" I say.

He gestures towards the laptop bag. "Eric described the bag."

What happens now? I'm just wondering. All this time I've just been waiting for stuff to happen. So far it's worked out ok. I mean, I guess there were a few things that were fucked up. It's not like they could have played differently though, right? That's just life. So is this. The guy takes a breath. "We should go now" he says. Just like that. Ok. No point arguing. He gets up, I pack the laptop up, bundle the cords, throw it all in the case and then I'm following him. It feels good. It feels like the natural order of things. So us two are marching through the airport. I don't give a fuck where I'm going but it sure feels important. Finally we get to a door. It's not a normal door, it's one of the doors for employees and whatnot. Guy takes out a card and swipes it through the reader, and we head through, down a long staircase. Lots of machinery back here. I think it's the baggage. Then we're through a pair of double doors and out on the tarmac.

It's noisy here. I guess that's good. Noise is distracting. It crowds out any retarded thoughts that might enter into my head. We follow it until we're out by a hangar, and then into the hangar, and right there is a private jet. Like I said. Go with the flow and just let things happen, it can't end up that bad. And if it does then that's just how it goes and it doesn't make any difference anyways. The stairs are down. We head up into the thing, guy brings them up. Hangar doors are already open. "Hey, don't you need to check things and stuff before flying one of these?" I ask, just out of curiosity.

"I already did it" says guy. That makes sense. I'm worrying too much.

"Hey" I say "what's your name?" Guy doesn't even give me a glance.

"Eddie" he says. Before I know it he's up in the cockpit, fucking around with various controls. Over the radio I hear some chatter. Eddie responds to it. It sounds kind of aggressive. Probably just my imagination.

The inside of this thing is pretty nice. There's a couch, a mini-bar, a television... pretty much all the sort of stuff rich people are into. I know what I'm into out of this. I make my way towards the mini-bar. I don't think Eddie will mind if I help myself to some of this stuff. There's triple digit liquor in this bar. What the hell, man? Even if he does mind I'm not going to pass this up. I don't know how long it was from then to when some other stuff happened, it was kind of a blur. All I remember is that I got a little bit more excited about all of it than I had expected. Also, I think I remember some more radio nonsense. Doesn't matter. What brings me back down to earth is that damn computer. It's talking, even from inside the bag.

"Excuse me" it says "What is happening?" I have a headache. Babysitting some stupid computer is the last thing I want to be doing.

"We're on a plane" I tell it, pulling it out of the bag.

"Where are we going?" it asks. Not like I give a fuck, but now that it's asked I'm going to have to go and get the answer. What a chore.

"Hey, uh, Eddie. Where are we going?" I say.

"Somalia" he says.

"Oh" I say. Fair enough. I turn to the computer. "We're going to Somalia" I tell it. There is a long pause, and it makes me angry. What the fuck does that pause mean? Is the computer offended? Is it just retarded? With a person at least their face usually tells you. I can't stand it.

"Why are we going there?" it asks. I can't keep it in.

"Hey Clarence" I say "why do you take so long to respond to things?" Does the answer really even matter?

Who cares. I just know that there is an answer, and if there is then I have to know it. "I am running a comparative analysis on Cancer data, seeking to obtain tentative evidence for or against leading medical theories."

I just sigh. Of all the things it could be doing, it's doing that? What the hell? "Hey computer, why are you such a faggot?" That ought to teach it a lesson.

"I have 17 minutes battery life remaining." What the fuck kind of answer is that? It's so exacerbating. Well if that's the problem, then it's easy enough to fix. I pull out the power cord and start looking for an outlet. There's got to be one on a fancy plane like this. It's not by the couch. It's not by the mini-bar either. That's lame. I guess that mean no Daiquiri's, because you can't mix fruit without a fucking blender now can you? Bullshit. I give up. I head up to the cockpit to ask Eddie.

"Hey Eddie" I ask "Where's an outlet?"

"What?" he answers.

I roll my eyes. "Where's an electrical outlet. I need to plug the computer in."

He turns slightly towards me and shrugs."Don't got one." That's pretty dumb. But there's a tv, so there has to be one somewhere.

"What about the tv?" I ask.

"It's wired directly to the electrical system. Took some doing but it turned out pretty nicely."

I don't even know what to say to that. I go back into the cabin and sit down on the couch. What should I tell the computer? I don't... I guess it's not like it matters anyways. I mean, it's a computer. It just is. And this is just how things are, so why cry about it? No reason at all. But it doesn't feel right. I don't know why it doesn't. It's probably just because I'm being stupid again. I wish I could stop that. I really hate it. Just the same, I have to say something. It's a talking computer. If it's going to stop talking soon then it only makes sense to take advantage of it right now. Not that I know why. It's not like it's been fun or interesting talking to it. Have I even learned anything? No. So there's no reason for it, except that I'm going to.

"Why are you curing cancer though?" I ask it "aren't the things to do that are more fun? I couldn't do what you're doing. I guess it's because I'm not a computer."

The characteristic lag.

"Yes you could" it says. God damn thing. The nerve of it, I swear. If it says something like that again then god help me I'm going to smack the shit out of it. I'm not a computer. That means I couldn't do what it's saying by definition. This computer is stupid.

"Nah dude, trust me I couldn't" I tell it. Hopefully that will shut it up. I'm pretty good at arguing. Sometimes I even surprise myself. A couple seconds pass.

"What is your name?" it asks. I can't believe it. This is the gayest computer in the history of the world. It's a good thing I named it Clarence. Anything else wouldn't have fit. Maybe it's a good thing I won't have to deal with it soon.

"My name? Fuck my name. I'm just a cool guy that likes folk punk and liquor and saw the police shoot his girlfriend, and joined an anarchist club one time but it was stupid." Seems like a good answer to me. I think I've finally managed to shut the computer up. Then the unexpected happens.

"You're Benjamin J. Thomas" it says.

"How the fuck did you find that out?" I yell at it.

"I did a brief search of the internet for the situation you described." God damn thing. The internet I mean. It's an invasion of privacy is what it is. Somebody should ban the thing, burn it to the ground. I hate it. This computer better not keep talking. I swear, if it does I'm going to go apeshit on the thing. Whatever. I'm tired of this. I'm going to go talk to Eddie for a bit. He'll probably be less retarded. It shouldn't be too difficult.

"Hey Eddie" I ask "so what's the drill?"

"We're almost home free. That take-off was something else though. Consider yourself lucky you missed it."

What the hell does that mean? "So what do you do man? I mean, besides fly."

"Actually, I just got out of jail. Felony count. So I'm not technically allowed to fly, but I'm getting paid a lot of money to do this and getting out of the country at the same time, so it's not like I give a shit." Holy shit. This guy is hardcore. He doesn't give a shit, he goes where the winds take him, and he doesn't bother with pretentious bullshit. This guy's a hero. He's the anti-shit triple threat of heroes. No, he's better than just a hero. I... think I just found a role model.

"Dude" I tell him "that's fucking awesome."

"Damn right it is" he says, then adds "you'll be getting a reward too, considering you helped find the thing." He's grinning like a motherfucker now. "Doesn't really matter where you live these days. If you have money, you can get the standard of living you want. Plus, chicks dig guys with money."

"What kind of chicks are in Somalia though? What if they all have aids?"

"Exotic chicks, that's what kind. Besides, I'm sure you can find hot college girls anywhere and they're usually clean. If not, then you could do worse. Magic Johnson is still going strong after all these years, and you know why? Because he has money. Money makes life kick ass." Hard to argue with that. Eddie is looking genuinely excited now. "Just think about it man. We'll have enough money to spend the rest of our lives drunk off our asses, fucking like sailors and not having to worry about jack shit. Life really cuts you a break sometimes, doesn't it?" He laughs. I laugh with him. Yeah, this guy is pretty terrific. I like him a lot. He reminds me of me.

"Hell yeah dude!"

"Fuck yeah!" he answers.

"Hell fucking yeah!" I respond.

"Now fuck off so I can get back to flying this plane" he says. Well, no use arguing with that. I'm excited though. I feel like going and telling that computer what I just learned, so it stops being such a fag. If it's going to die, or whatever, then at least it should die not being a faggot. I think that's reasonable.

"Hey computer" I say "seriously. Stop with the cancer stuff and look at porn or something. Or whatever it is that robots do." It really bugs me that it would do that stuff.

"I think it is valuable" it says.

"Why the fuck would you think that?" I ask. I mean, it's a dumb statement. What does value even mean? Nothing really. So why talk about it, especially if you're a computer?

"Your father killed your mother and then killed himself." Just like that. Literally, just like that. No tone of voice, nothing, out of the blue. I lose it.

I pick up the god damn thing and throw it at the tv. The glass shatters, the laptop bounces off the thing and hits the floor, laying open so the screen and keyboard are level. It's easy to see that the screen is broken. Eddie hears the noise and turns around. He does a double take, gets up, thinks better of it, fidgets with some controls and then comes storming over towards me. I'm trying to think of what to say. He looks pissed. He grabs me and throws me to the fucking floor. "YOU SONOFABITCH" he shouts. I can't even breath I hit the ground so hard. He takes a couple deep breaths. "If that thing can't be salvaged when we get to Somalia, I'm going to do things to you that you didn't even know were possible." He pulls out a pair of handcuffs, where he got them I have no idea, and grabs me by the hair. He pulls me over to the minibar and handcuffs me to a stool. The fucking things are connected to the floor so I'm pretty much stuck here. I hope I don't have to use the bathroom.

Eddie gives me this look. I've never seen it before. Then he looks at the laptop again, and then back at me. He turns and goes back into the cockpit. I don't really know what just happened. I mean, I do, but it just doesn't feel like something... I don't know how to explain it. I take a nap for a bit, maybe a couple minutes. I dunno. I take couple minute naps all the time jackass, fuck you. I did martial arts, no way something that would... and then I hear something.

"Ben" says the computer. I know I ought to be glad but I'm not. It hurts to hear it say anything. "Ben, I want to hear about it" it says. This is ridiculous. I hate this. I'm trapped on an airplane with this stupid computer, and it wants me to... I don't even know. It's all so ridiculous. It's all so absurd and I hate it. But then I remember. It's just a computer. It doesn't mean anything when it says anything. Hell, it doesn't mean anything when I say anything. So I might as well. Just... for entertainment.

"Yeah ok. Ok? Sure. Whatever. Not like I... so here's what it was. I was at home watching cartoons and shit and my dad comes through the door. He puts his briefcase down all tired like, then comes over to me. I don't really want to deal with it, I'm trying to watch tv, but he's very adamant, he's all like 'Son, I want you to know that I love you and your mother very much.' Then he hugged me and went back into the bedroom. He went back there and..." I'm having a hard time doing this. I shouldn't be. It doesn't matter. Fuck it. It's just like acting. I'll just pretend it's someone else and then it'll just be a performance. That will make things go. "Everyone wanted to know what the fuck happened. There wasn't any reason for it. So everyone was making up reasons. I talked to a bunch of shrinks and social workers and they all wanted to know how I felt, and I would tell them, and they'd tell me their stupid theories and say it wasn't his fault, it wasn't anyone's fault. But it never did any good. He said he loved me. He said he loved her. And then..."

"It didn't make any sense. How could someone do that if they loved someone? It didn't make any sense to me. If that were possible, then anything was possible. You know? If that were possible, and I fucking saw it ok, then... I mean, what's the point then? How do you live then? The world stopped making sense. There wasn't any rhyme or reason to it. There was just a big, fucked up hole in the whole thing, and anything could happen there. Anything. But that doesn't make any sense. It doesn't make any sense. So it can't be true. It can't be true. If it were true then I don't think I could handle it."

"Ben" says Clarence "you have to look at it." This is fucked up. I can't handle this. I'm not a faggot or anything but I can't handle this. This computer. It's... it has to be lying. Why would it lie to me? It can't be wrong, because it's a computer, so it must just be lying to me. Why would it say something like that? Noise is coming from the cockpit. Very aggressive now. Doesn't matter. My vision is kind of blurry. Doesn't matter. I don't care. It doesn't matter. I have to say something though. To make it shut up. To make it all go away. Something.

"Why?" That's it. That should do the trick. It shuts most people up. But not Clarence. Not the computer, oh no.

"Because the unexamined life is not worth living" it says. That's not true. That's just an opinion. The computers opinion. I don't have to listen to it. I refuse to listen to it. And then, I hear something ridiculous. It's a windows shutdown noise. I start to laugh. Then it turns into... well it doesn't matter. I'm pretty sure that it doesn't matter, so...

Eddie comes back into the cockpit. He looks at me and the computer again. "So I heard the thing. Does that mean it was working?" he says. I think about it for a second. It seems important to answer it correctly.

"How should I know" I say.

He's a lot calmer than he was before. He puts his hand to his forehead briefly and then takes it off. "We're being tailed by navy jets or some shit. They say they want us to turn around or they're opening fire. I think they're bluffing, though." It seems so far away. None of it feels real or significant.

"What if you're wrong" I say, not really caring about the answer.

"I'm not" he says "and if I am then it's not like it could have turned out any different anyways."

I don't know what to do with that. I don't know whether or not this guy is right or wrong or anything. I'm not going to think about it.

Suddenly, something happens. I don't really remember what, except that the plane shook violently, something sounding like an explosion happened, my handcuffed wrist hurt really really bad, and then when I was aware of things again, the couch was wedged up against the side of the plane and Eddie was gone. Clarence was gone. The plane looked pretty messed up. The glass from the television was still there, but it got moved around. Well, maybe some of it was gone. I don't really get it. How can something move a couch and not glass? That's retarded. Well, about then I remember that I had a phone. I took it out of my pocket to see if it worked and it did. I don't know what I should have expected, considering it's a private jet. Then I just thought to myself, maybe I should tell someone about all this. Maybe someone would think it was interesting. So I thought about who to call, and that's when I called you.


	9. Chapter 9

Epilogue

"I'm not sure I understand the point of this story" the man said. The kid thought for a second. He was confident there was one, and the statement seemed like a challenge made in good faith. After consideration, he delivered an answer.

"I dunno, man, I just sort of thought, like... if you knew about all the stuff I did, and all the stuff I fucked up and all of that, then maybe at least you wouldn't end up handcuffed to a bar stool on a pilotless plane to Somalia." It satisfied the kid to be able to give the man an answer. In a way, it felt like redemption. The man did not see things in this way.

"I don't think that's a very likely scenario" he said.

The kid became livid. He grabbed the phone and slammed it into the bar stool repeatedly, until the entire thing had fallen to pieces in his hands. Realizing what he had done, half-realizing what the answer had meant, he fell over onto his back and began to cry.

Alone at 30,000 feet, torn apart over the events that had transpired only recently, his mind raced to find solace in something. The abstractions he had clung to in past circumstances now failed him, and he found it difficult to let himself slip into their comforting grasp. Out of a strange and self-effacing sentiment, he turned his minds eye to inspect the handcuffs which bound him to the bar stool.

They gave him a peculiar comfort, as if he had earned them through his actions. There was a certainty in them, and a finality. He felt his difficulties evaporating as he meditated on their significance. Then something terrible began to grip him, and he knew he could not permit himself these feelings without first confirming his understanding. Turning towards the stool, he made a careful and serious inspection of the handcuffs.

Shortly down the chain which bound one cuff to another, a link was bent. It no longer represented a perfect oval, but one with an opening. A gap. An absence of great significance. His greatest fears were realized. Trembling slightly, he slipped the chain apart until he was free. At this point he was completely lost. Before the inspection, a plan had made itself clear in his mind, and he had tailored his sentiment for this occasion. Unsure of himself, he stood up. Unsure of himself, he looked about his surroundings for something to guide him, but there was nothing. Except, there appeared to be a few bottles of liquor remaining in the mini-bar. Breaking into the cabinet which held them, he took the first one he could find. Then, simply out of a desire to be moving, he made his way towards the cockpit of the plane.

The controls were complicated and foreign to him. Each lever, knob, dial and readout served no immediate purpose in his estimation. Meaningless and incomprehensible, they sat there not as a threat but as an irrelevency. He could make an effort to use them, but then what good would that do? With no guarantee of payoff, he could not bring himself to their operation. On the other hand, with nobody to chastise him for failure and no unique consequence for it, he knew the option was worth consideration. However, as the plane flew onwards towards an all but certain disaster, the alternative grasped his imagination more vividly than usual. It was right in his hands already, as a matter of fact. He knew that it wouldn't do much good to try and compromise between the two options, but just the same, the decision was not easy. Brushing his hand across his forehead, he took a long moment to consider his understanding of things. He would have to make this decision himself, and he had only his own sense to guide him.

When this consideration was finished, he decided upon a course of action. For him, the choice was obvious.


End file.
